To Move Forward
by Dracarys Blackfyre
Summary: What is known about time? It is the past, present, and future and yet it is more. Time is ever flowing, continuous in its infinite pace. It is something that is desired by everyone. And in this one instance, Eragon is given more time not as a second chance at life but as a chance to move forward. However, to move forward oftentimes one must start at the beginning.
1. Notice

_**Now, before you go to freaking out and pinning plagiarization on me, THIS IS NOT MINE. This story was originally posted by a user of the name Rainxoxo, they are truly a gifted writer. I, along with numerous others probably, was profoundly upset when I came to find this story missing from their profile. No one knows if it was deleted or soemthing happened to have it removed. Now, I post this here, NOT for personal recognition, but so I and many others can enjoy this wonderful story once again. I have not and will not make any changes, not even spelling. And I will also leave the previous authors' notes here. Sadly, I could not find the cover art that the previous author had for this story. I will also be doing my best to upload a chapter a day, please bare with me. Please, enjoy this story like I do.**_

_**Ps: This text I have stolen from the User ~NitexXxMare **_


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**And so this is the first chapter of my spin off of Reversed Life. I know I said I was going to upload it within the next week but I didn't want you all to have to wait that long to see the new project that I'm working on. This chapter is the prologue of the story and it branches from the original plot of Reversed Life. In the beginning moment Eragon is supposed to have killed Galbatorix like how I wrote it in Reversed Life, however here it is different and you shall all see very soon. To those of you who do not know Reversed Life, basically it is a rewrite of the end of Eragon to the end of Inheritance in which Murtagh and Eragon switched roles. You don't necessarily have to read RL to read this story but a background history is always nice. (Standard Disclaimer: Inheritance=CP). Anyways, R&R.**

The voice was soft and as she spoke, his entire body flashed with recognition. _Your world…fight for it._

It was as if someone had launched him from a catapult for he felt himself propel through the air towards Galbatorix, faster than he could manage by himself, with Saphira's help or with magic. He saw a flash of shock in Galbatorix's eyes but did not dwell on it. Flourishing his sword over his head, he took in a deep breath before a shout left him, "_Brisingr!"_

A sizzle ran through his sword and the sapphire blade erupted into flames, bright and powerful. As he neared Galbatorix, he pushed out with his mind and with the help of the others within him closed it about the king, separating him from his Eldunarí as he allowed their thoughts to connect. _Understand, Galbatorix, all the pain that you have caused, _thought Eragon as he let the memories of the dead wash over the king, the man immobilized by the flood of thoughts and emotions.

He was the reason for a century of anguish and sorrow.

Eragon could never comprehend what was lost over the hundred years since Galbatorix came into power. Though there were physical losses such as Vroengard and those who fought against Galbatorix, there was also a change in the people, in the way of life, in the land itself. He had deprived others of happiness, had hoarded everything to himself and called himself a king. _A king exists for his people, not for himself. _And Eragon had been ignorant of it until he met Arya, until he left the Empire, until he joined the Varden. He did not understand the sorrows of other people but he did within the short time outside of the Empire, he grew to understand.

He understood sadness and the struggle against it. He saw it in everyone and felt as if he were being crushed by all their hopes. Those who couldn't fight for themselves asked others that could to fight for them. And he would fight for them. He would fight for them and all those who could not fight and those who did but were cut down. It was in this moment, when the dead and the living had joined, that he realized just how deeply emotions could stem. Feelings such as love conquered death. They lived on after death and this was proof. He felt their emotions pour through him and into Galbatorix, preventing him for speaking coherently as he cried out with the pain of a hundred years of memories, pain, and loss.

With a yell, he stabbed Brisingr upwards, watching as the blazing blade sunk through Galbatorix's armor over his heart until the hilt met the metal of his armor. A cry of agony was torn from Galbatorix and he let out a yell in the ancient language, composing a line that Eragon could not hear until there was a bright white light that erupted with his scream, enveloping the both of them—and then the sky no longer existed and it was just Eragon facing a pained Galbatorix who was fighting the emotions of the memories. Their eyes met and in the king's eyes he saw defeat and the anger of defeat.

And then it was gone in a bright flash and when his mind failed him, he thought of Arya and Murtagh and hoped that they had managed to kill Shruikan and finally end the battle that a century's worth of effort had built up towards. As he continued to fall, he heard the voices in his head speaking to him. His dull mind registered their thoughts of gratitude and then he heard their heartfelt thanks—for he had freed them from their past and had freed Alagaësia and its people from sorrow.

_It was the beginning._

The world about him faded out into nothing and his reality fell to pieces, a white world taking its place—entirely devoid of anything else but him He was falling once more, but this time he knew there would be no one to catch him. Trying to keep his eyes open, he blinked against the intensity of the light and nearly felt as if his entire body was being ripped apart. It was as if someone were cutting him to pieces, transposing him through the worlds before piecing him back together. Was this Galbatorix's doing? The icy claws of reality gripped and pulled at him but he refused to give in. Whatever it was, he did not want to lose his hold on the world. He was not going to relinquish it.

The agonizing pain ended moments later, leaving him dazed and breathless, but there remained an odd sensation to his being—as if he were there but he didn't truly exist. He could feel a cold ground beneath his body, but it didn't feel as if it were solid. Blinking, he found himself lying on the concrete ground of Urû'baen. Had he done it?

Groaning at the ferocious pounding in his head, Eragon glanced about, frowning at the sudden gloom that seemed to have overcome the city. What was going on? Despite it being morning, the sun did not appear radiant and the sky looked more gray than blue. He turned his head, taking in the sight of cheering soldiers and the relief that poured through the Varden and its allies. Watching them lift up their blades and shields with triumphant shouts made him want to do the same, but there was something that prevented him from doing so. He did not know why but for some reason, he did not feel like celebrating.

_Something was wrong._

"Arya?" Eragon called to his surroundings, noticing for the first time that the dragons were not in the air. Turning his head in search of his mate, his anxiety grew when he could not spot her. "Arya, where are you?" There was no reply to his shout and the soldiers about him did not seem to give notice to his presence. They were too elated with their victory to give notice to him and he did not blame them. When everything was said and done, he was going to celebrate as well._ Perhaps Saphira might know where Arya is._ He was about to reach out to her when a mournful keen erupted near the center of the city.

He could place the sound anywhere. It was Saphira who was lamenting and in her voice he heard a deep anguish and a cry for something lost. His body lurched forward before his mind could and Eragon found himself tearing through the streets of the city towards the lamentation of his dragon who was soon joined by Thorn and Eridor. They were mourning someone close to their heart. But who? Who had died? Instantly fear gripped his heart as he thought of Arya. No, his mate wasn't dead. He refused to accept it.

"Arya!" Tearing through the streets with unnatural speed, he easily navigated his way between the buildings and alleyways that led to the center. No one paid him mind, for they were all intently focused on the song that was being sung by the dragons. It was a song that was filled with sorrow, grief, and unrestrained anger. It was a song that touched his heart and made his anxiety all the more real. Trying to push down his fear, he hurried forward, ignoring the pounding ache in his head and his limbs.

Turning a corner, he leapt over a fallen body of an Urgal and continued down the alleyway, emerging from the cramped space and into the courtyard where he spotted the three dragons all baring down on a dark haired elf-woman. His heart stopped as he watched them mourn, Saphira's azure eyes filled with grief and tears as she stared down at the elf that was hunched over on the ground on her knees. He stared at her, heart pounding erratically in chest before he started forward. "Arya!" Eragon called to her, willing her to hear his voice and see him—willing her to look up and show to him that she was uninjured and fine. She did not; instead she remained in her doubled over position.

He neared her, skirting about Thorn's large mass as he did so as the dragon reared his head back and let out another mournful song. _No! She was not dead! She couldn't be! _Nearing her, he called out to her once more. "Arya, what is wrong?"

She did not respond to him and the fear that he felt in his head made his knees weak. Unable to stand not being at her side, he let his feet carry him forward as fast as the wind. When he was within fifteen feet of her, she shifted on the spot. Her dark hair swayed with her movements as she straightened and he paused, catching sight of her face. Despite the grim and filth of the battle and the blood that coated her skin in thin lines, she was as beautiful as ever. However, her beauty was marred by her painful expression. Her emerald eyes were wide with tears and clouded with anguish so deep that he felt his heart give way and he wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and ease her pain. A tear fell from her eyes and then another and another before she was crying outright. Her body was whacked in sobs and her beautiful voice twisted in a lament of her own.

_But why was she crying?_

Arya appeared to be in good health to him. Apart from her grief, she did not seem injured, which gave him a great feeling of relief. He had managed to protect her from Galbatorix. If she was not injured or dead then why were the dragons grieving? Eyes roaming over Arya, they paused at the body that laid in her arms and the stained silver of the armor. _No! It can't be Murtagh! _"Arya!" Eragon called again as he ran forward just as another voice called out to her.

"Arya!"

Pausing mid-step, Eragon turned to find Murtagh running towards Arya. Behind him, he could see the leaders running or riding towards the scene as fast as they could, no doubt alarmed by the laments of the dragons. Murtagh was alive…then who was the person that Arya was grieving over so tremendously? A friend of hers? But then why would the dragons grieve as well? Feeling as if he was in a dream, he let his feet carry himself forward so that he could get a better look of the person wrapped in Arya's embrace.

Every step felt like an eternity as he drew closer to her, wondering with everything in his being what it was that could have happened. The terrible sounds that came from Arya as her sobs racked her body pierced him, and only when she shifted slightly was Eragon finally able to catch sight of the person she was mourning over. His eyes took in the tousled chestnut hair that was slick with sweat and filth, the pale complexion of a body that was lifeless, the face stained in the crimson hue of blood, and the dented silver armor.

Lying in her arms was him.

Unable to move forward, he merely watched as her tears continued to pour through her as she cried for him. Was that him? Was he the unmoving body that laid in her arms? That couldn't be though. He was standing right before her! He was still alive! There was no way he could be dead. A dead person could not exist on Alagaësia. And yet here he was standing before Arya and lying in her arms at the same time. Which one of him was real? Or perhaps this was just a horrid nightmare.

"Arya!" He turned at Murtagh's cry and watched as his brother slowed to a stop, his eyes widening at the sight of Eragon's body lying unmoving in Arya's arms. Disbelief seemed to take over Murtagh as his blue eyes focused on the body of his younger brother, until he spoke in a strangled voice that sounded as if he did not understand the world any more. "Arya…Eragon…wake him up…he shouldn't be sleeping now…"

He stopped, swallowing thickly as Saphira let out a roar of grief. Eragon did not want to believe it either. He felt as if he was merely watching a nightmare flit by. He had killed Galbatorix, he was standing here and yet he was dead. The gloom that had settled over Urû'baen appeared to be much deeper now, and it began to take root within the Varden and its allies as realization began to dawn on them.

When Arya made no move to answer Murtagh, his brother took a step forward, stumbling slightly as he collapsed to his knees, unable to move on, his face an expression of complete shock. Eragon turned away from him. He couldn't look at Murtagh for it made him understand that this was reality—that he was truly dead. Entranced by his own death he started forward feeling as if the world was tilted sideways. Everything felt surreal to him. He was dead and yet he was still living. Was some sort of magic holding him back in Alagaësia? Or was this his own will that could not move on? All sound seemed to fade away as he stopped before Arya and his body. Despite the situation and the fact that he was dead, there was a sense of detachment from life as he stared down at himself. Another sob tore through Arya's lips. She appeared to be shaking with violent tremors with every sound that left her. It was horrible. He had always thought her voice to be beautiful and to hear it so warped in grief made him wonder if this was the same voice that held such a lilting beauty.

With intent eyes, he watched as she straightened, her ungloved hands coming forward to take his face in her hands as he heard her as clear as day, as if she was speaking right beside his own ear. "Eragon…you cannot die…you cannot…not after you have won…not after you defeated Galbatorix." Her voice sounded so desperate that he felt his own eyes sting and his heart constrict violently in his chest. "Freedom…it is finally yours…so please…open your eyes…_please Eragon."_

Hearing her words only cemented the fact that he truly was dead. "Arya…" Reaching out with his right hand, he paused when it went directly through her. As she continued to plead with his body, Eragon could only stare at his fingers as if they had suddenly turned into something hideous and deformed. He could not touch her anymore. He could no longer feel her warmth and the thought sent a wave of pain through him. He was dead and Arya…Arya was still living.

"Eragon…"

His head whipped to face her as she tenderly caressed his face with her hand. Her face was streaked with tears and her emerald eyes pained, yet she was trying to smile for him, even while her red lips trembled with her growing pain. "Eragon…I love you," she said, leaning forward to touch her forehead to his. He watched as she sweetly kissed his unmoving lips and how in that kiss, she murmured his true name but his body did not respond to her any more for it was no longer alive.

"I love you as well, Arya," she did not hear him and he did not expect her to. Instead she just held him close to her as if afraid that the moment she let go of his body he would disappear. He had once heard that love conquered death, that it lived on after death, and perhaps this was true—for here he was and even though he was no longer living he could still feel a part of Arya within him. He felt her deep anguish and yet her even greater love for him. Her emotions were so strong that he wanted to shy away from them but instead, he merely stood there and continued to watch. It was as if he had a duty to watch the scene before him despite the pain it brought to his heart.

He watched as she ran a hand through his hair, brushing stray locks of hair away from his face. He watched as she traced a finger from his temple to his chin, lingering over his jaw. He watched as she shifted him in her arms, cradling his head against the crook of her neck. Surreal. Detached. A nightmare. That was what he was watching. She was touching him and yet he could not feel the warmth of her skin on him. All he felt was the part of Arya that had died with him swirling about in his own soul.

Was this victory?

He had done what he was asked of. He had fought Galbatorix, and had won. But at the cost of what? His own life? _I had always believed I would die, _thought Eragon as he stared at Arya and himself, _but I hoped that one day Arya and I would have been able to live our lives out together. Yet this is…_

Did he regret dying?

_No…_

He had fought and he had won even though it had meant sacrificing his own life. Eragon was not naïve. He did not believe that he would survive, for Galbatorix was a foe unlike any other. Yet, he still held on hope—hope that he would not die no matter how the odds were stacked against him. Fate, however, seemed to have had different plans. There was once a time in which he would welcome death with open arms. That was before he met Arya. Now he did not wish to die, not when there was a future without Galbatorix directly before him. It was unfair.

He heard the soft sounds of footsteps and turned to watch as Queen Islanzadí walked forward. Her golden corselet was stained with crimson blood and in her left hand was Naegling; the golden blade was in much the same state as her corselet. It was not her armor that alarmed him. Her expression was one of utter grief as she stared down at her daughter as she cradled her mate. He had thought Islanzadí would have not cared if he died so long as he fought Galbatorix and killed the king. He was wrong and he knew that now as he watched her step forward until she was directly behind Arya.

"Arya," she said softly her hand reaching down to rest on her daughter's shoulder. She did not respond nor did she give any indication that she was aware of her mother's presence behind her. Islanzadí was not deterred for she continued to speak softly in the ancient language. "Arya…you cannot save him. He is—"

"_No," _she cut across her mother savagely. "Do not say it."

Islanzadí stopped and seemingly wishing to calm Arya did not speak any longer. Instead, she curled her fingers about Arya's shoulder and stood there offering her daughter her strength and support. Then a cry of agony rose up and he was surprised to find that it belonged to Murtagh and one by one, those who survived, those who were celebrating but moments earlier let their voices join in on the mourning. He heard the deep shouts of the Urgals, the melodious songs of the elves, the cries of mourning of the humans, and the rough voices of the dwarves. They all came together to sing a song of lamentation alongside the dragons. Listening to them and watching as Arya tightened her grip on his body only served to reinforce the coming realization.

_I am dead._

The moment the thought crossed his mind he felt the world fade away before him and panic rose up in him as the image of Arya and Saphira was swept away from him. The buildings of Urû'baen began to collapse in on themselves, disappearing along with the people. The lament steadily grew quieter until it was nonexistent. He was no longer standing in Urû'baen. Instead, he was now standing in the sanctuary of Alagaësia. Below his feet was the smooth water that comprised the ground, and twisting from the ground were emerald columns, the streams of consciousness.

"You fought well." Eragon turned to find Alagaësia standing behind him. She was, once more, in Arya's form and hearing her voice made his heart ache. He did not know what was going to become of Arya but he could tell that it would take years for her to recover from his death. If she ever did. In that moment, he felt sorry to her. If he could dig out his own heart to give to her as an apology he would. He never wanted to bring such sorrow to Arya—to Saphira. _Please…do not do anything reckless for my sake…please live on…Arya, Saphira…_

"Not well enough," Eragon replied softly. His eyes darted about the sanctuary and then they flickered to the ground. He would soon be joining the souls of the dead in the other world. He should feel panicked, perhaps even fearful. Yet, in his heart he only felt a sense of deep calm and acceptance. There was nothing left for him. A part of him admitted his fate and was ready to move on but another part of him—Arya's part—refused to be parted from the world. He did not want to leave her. Not yet. Not now.

"You defeated him." Alagaësia did not smile, nor did she cheer as his allies did. Instead, she merely observed him with her emerald eyes. It was difficult for him to hold her stare since her eyes were the eyes of the elf of whom was beloved to him. They stared at each other for a moment longer and then she continued. "Yet you do not seem to be overjoyed."

"I find it hard to believe that anyone would enjoy death," said Eragon shaking his head. "I had always thought my life would not transcend my task to kill Galbatorix and it seems as if I was right in thinking so. In the end, I was meant to die." _Angela's prophecies were worthless, or at least a part of them was. He was not going to live a long life. _He could see that now.

"You are not dead," said Alagaësia softly. At his curious eyes, she elaborated. "Your physical body is dead and with it, your connection to the physical world. However Eragon do not forget that your soul is different to that of a regular being. You possess the soul of a human, a spirit, and an elf. As such, the boundaries between this sanctuary and the other world do not necessarily hold for you." When he did not answer her, Alagaësia merely inclined her head and once more he was struck by how much she reminded him of his soul bond. "You have the choice to stay here or move on."

_Move on?_

His eyes darted to the ground below him and underneath the calm surface of the water he could see another world waiting for him. If he moved on that would mean he would have to leave behind all those for whom he had come to care back in the physical plane of Alagaësia. His heart clenched and his throat felt as if it were constricting him, not allowing air to pass through. No, he did not want to move on. There was still much left for him to do. Moving on would on mean abandoning his world—abandoning his loved ones—and even in death he could not forgive himself if that happened. There had to be another way. There had to be something that he could do. He did not want to die yet. There was a flash of a memory before him and he saw her smiling warmly at him, her emerald eyes sparkling. A moment passed and then he saw Saphira gazing down at him, her large azure irises sparkling. He could not leave them. Not yet.

"I killed Galbatorix?" Eragon asked, needing some sort of confirmation.

"You did," said Alagaësia with a nod, "However, he was able to kill you before his entire being was wiped from Alagaësia. You were unable to protect yourself in those last moments and his magic managed to get past your defenses. Which is why you stand here once more—for you have passed through the gate without the need of a key."

Eragon frowned, there was no need to reiterate that he was dead. He knew that well enough. He was standing in her sanctuary after all. "Alagaësia." She turned her eyes to him and waited for what he had to say. "I know that it is not my place to ask of you any favors, but if you can help me, please give me another chance. Give me another way to save my world."

"I cannot bring back the dead," she said softly with sad eyes as she gazed at him. "You know as well as I do that once a physical embodiment of a soul is damaged beyond repair either by injury or age, it cannot be replaced. Immortality does not mean invincibility. I cannot give you a second chance at life."

"There must be some way for me to continue on," insisted Eragon. It was selfish of him, but what was there to lose? If there was any way for him to continue on he would. He was not ready to lie down in the waiting arms of death. He wanted to move forward. "I know it is selfish of me to request this of you, Alagaësia, but please…you must know of another way. I am not asking for a second chance at life. I am asking for a first—for I have not known what it means to live, apart from the short time I have spent with the Varden. Please, just listen to my request."

Listened she did. Her head was inclined to the side as she studied him with hard eyes. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and her expression was one of contemplation. Eragon did not know how long he stood there waiting for her to tell him her thoughts on his request. It was his desperation that drove him to ask of her such a thing, for he was not ready to accept his death. He was not ready to depart from Arya and Saphira. He wanted to continue to be with them even if it meant redoing his entire life again. Perhaps there was a way for him to relive his memories? Even if it were a limited life he would not minding living it once. There was a slight shift in her expression as Alagaësia regarded him curiously and then she spoke, slowly and uncertainly.

"You desire a way to live?" she asked with a somber expression.

"I do," nodded Eragon as his determination showed through. He was not going to let his fear get the best of him not now. Even in death, he had to remain strong. Within his chest, he felt the swirl of emotions that were Arya's and her deep anguish still lingering within him. If she refused to let go, Eragon refused to do so as well. Hands trembling slightly, he brought his right hand up to stare at the silver patch of skin on his palm. _Give me strength Saphira…Arya…_

"Are you willing to shoulder the burden of your request?"

"I am," Eragon replied with another nod. As he spoke, his eyes flickered to the stream of consciousness and he could not help but feel insignificant as he took in the pulsing stream of memories—of life itself as recorded by the dead. Now his memories had become a part of the stream and his history had merged together with the memories of the others. That was all he was now. He was a mere memory in the physical world. The thought both angered and saddened him. He wasn't ready to become a mere memory.

"Then remember your words," Alagaësia warned him as she lifted a hand skyward. "Consider this a gift to you for ridding Alagaësia of Galbatorix, but listen carefully. You must be careful with the choices that you decide to make for you will not have a chance to make them once more." She whispered his true name and unlike how his physical body had responded when Arya had whispered it, he felt a tremor course through him as a bell of recognition sounded in his mind. The strange, alien hymn filled the air once more as a stream of consciousness began to shift and bend according to the will of Alagaësia. The emerald river began to loop about him like a snake would its prey, curling with greater heights until he found himself standing in a spinning circular wall of memories.

The circle bent inwards about him as he watched the memories pass him by. Bending his knees, his arms outstretched to keep him balanced, he waited as Alagaësia went about her magic. He did not know the intentions of the spiritual embodiment of the land, but he trusted her. Then the circle of magic fluctuated once more, closing in tighter about him, as a great pain exploded in the back of his head and his entire vision went white. Once more he felt his body being compressed and torn apart simultaneously, only this time his entire soul with it.

The hymn grew stronger until it was a loud thundering that rolled in his ears. The wall of memories continued to press in on him until he felt their burdens being pressed down on him, forcing him to his knees. Then all at once, he felt the bombardment of memories in his mind threatening to tear him apart. Once more, he saw strangers he'd never met before, events that he'd never heard of, and things he did not want to see. They pressed against him, a tremendous amount of voices and images that threatened to rip him apart at the seams and leave him in tatters. Trying to reel in the thoughts that exploded before him, he fought against the pressing stream trying to find a moment in history that he could focus upon. Determined, he cast out in the ocean of memories that threatened to drown and suffocate him for once that would take his full attention away from the others. Shifting through the memories, he blinked when one came forward and stretched about his mind covering every nook and cranny that his mind had to offer. It completely blanketed out everything else.

_Urû'baen, there was a tremendous battle on the plains before the city. It was the elves; they were fighting against Galbatorix and his Forsworn. Above he saw the dragons circling the sky, bellowing their rage and their thirst for blood as the battle raged beneath them. He saw flashes of magic and heard the clangs of metal against metal and knew that this battle was one that was ferocious and at the same time tentative, for the tide could easily be turned._

_His eyes scanned for Galbatorix and he found the man standing in the midst of the raging battle, swinging the pale blade that once belonged to Vrael about in his hands, slashing down his enemies with a sword that once brought justice and order to Alagaësia, not misery and sorrow. He was fighting with an older elf and Eragon recognized who it was with a jolt. He had seen him before on a fairth in Arya's chambers._

_It was King Evandar. Overhead, Blagden flew as if to protect the elven king._

A bellow tore through the air causing his eyes to fly open. The earlier ache he felt in the back of his mind was gone. _Where am I? _Another bellow tore through the air causing surprise and anxiety to tear through him. _Saphira? _Trying to move to his feet, he found that his limbs ached with a burning fire and he gasped at the pain. Taking in a shuddering breath, Eragon pushed himself to his feet, stumbling slightly as he took in a battlefield that stretched across the entire plains before him. There was a familiarity to his surroundings that echoed within him. He had seen this before.

Another bellow sounded above him and he lifted his head to find the sky filled with thirteen dragons, a large black one standing out amongst its companions. _Shruikan…_but the dragon was not as large as he remembered it to be. What was more alarming was that Eragon did not recognize the other dragons. They swooped over the battlefield grabbing at warriors and releasing torrents of flames so great that it would burn alive any soldier to ashes if they did not have wards to protect them. Glancing all about him, he took in the fair elves that fought and the lack of any other allies of the Varden. The dwarves, Urgals, and werecats were not present. Where was this place?

Eyes darting forward, he blinked at the sight of a large city a few miles away. Eragon recognized the walls, even if they were not as thick or as tall as Galbatorix had made them, the way he remembered them. That was Urû'baen. Yet, why was he here on the plains before the city? _What was going on? _The battle about him parted and his heart nearly failed him. Not far off, he spotted Galbatorix fighting, however, he was younger. Rather than appearing in his fourth decade, he looked a few years older than Eragon himself. His ensemble was the same despite his youth. On his head he wore an ancient gold crown with sparkling jewels, on his body an ebony attire, and in his hand he wielded a pale blade—Islingr, Vrael's sword.

Though he was shocked to see Galbatorix, he could not describe how he felt as his eyes took in the traitor king's opponent. Fighting with great strength and speed, his silver hair shining in the sunlight and his stern, determined gray eyes narrowed was an elf whom Eragon recognized well indeed.

The elf that was fighting Galbatorix was Arya's father—King Evandar.

**So how did you all like this chapter? This story will be much more difficult to write than RL was. I had the Inheritance Books to go off of but now I have to try to piece together the sparse information that CP has given in the original to try and rewrite history. So if some details appear questionable in the later chapters, I hope you all won't mind. Apart from that, how was the prologue? As always I shall always enjoy your reviews. And I also wanted to say that this story will not be updated daily like RL was. I will try to find a good update speed but I'm also busy working on a separate novel at the moment. In any case please leave your thoughts and I shall see you all soon in the next chapter!**

**Update: 08/06/2014 — I have someone editing the chapters of TMF so that it could be error free for everyone! It'll make it easier on the eye and the brain to read. ****As always, enjoy!**


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**The moment when you finish the chapter and you're not satisfied with it and you end up rewriting half of it and then rewriting it some more. Once more I'm sort of experimenting with the time travel thing and I've been tiptoeing about the time line that CP has laid out for us in the original. I want to keep to it but change it up. In any case this is the second chapter of the story in which it just breaks TMF more into the plot line. So far only Eragon and Evandar has been introduced. But more characters will be seen soon, so R&R!**

It was then that time had stopped for him. All he could do was watch, frozen in place, as King Evandar fought blow for blow with Galbatorix. He had seen this before. Heart pounding with his realization, Eragon could only continue to stare as the battle about him dimmed and his eyes remained focused on King Evandar. He had seen this before back when he had touched the stream of consciousness and the scene continued to play out before his very eyes as he continued to watch Evandar and Galbatorix. They fought just as he had remembered watching back in Alagaësia's sanctuary.

He was strong and powerful thought Eragon as he watched the king fight Galbatorix blow for blow, never tiring nor losing in speed or strength. They elves, Eragon assumed, were channeling their energy into the king so that he could fight to the best of his abilities. They were his greatest hope in defeating the traitor at the moment with the fall of the Riders and the death of Vrael, the only person who could have been capable of destroying Galbatorix had he not faltered when delivering the final blow.

Then he saw it as Evandar raised his blade. There was a flash of black magic as their blades met and the blade of the sword in the elf king's hand gave way to the Rider's blade in Galbatorix's hands. The silver blade snapped, the halved end piece flying through the air leaving the king with a jagged and useless blade to defend himself.

Knowing what was to come next, Eragon propelled himself forward without a second thought, his hand flying automatically to his waist and to his surprise, wrapped about Brisingr. With a flourish of his arm, he slid the iridescent sapphire blade from its sheath as he sailed forward ignoring the fighting about him as he focused on the pale blade of Islingr—now Vrangr—as Galbatorix lifted the sword high above his head ready to cut down the king in a savage blow. As he pushed forward, he saw an image of Arya in his mind. He was not going to stand idly by when her father was going to be killed. If he had to bear the sin of altering time he was going to do it willingly. This was Alagaësia's gift to him. This was his chance to start over—to move forward and he was going to take it.

Faster than any elf could match, Eragon was upon them and with a rough hand, shoved the king out of the way as he brought Brisingr forward to meet the blade of Vrangr. A snarl left his lips as he took in Galbatorix. This was the man who killed him a century from now. This was the man who tore his world from him. He had taken away his means of happiness. _Saphira, Arya, his family…they no longer existed. Not as he remembered them. _"You shall pay Galbatorix," Eragon spat at him refusing to budge as the two of them stood together, swords locked.

"And who are you? Another pitiful Rider that could not manage to protect his own dragon?" Galbatorix asked with a sneer as he pushed back at Eragon with Vrangr trying to overwhelm him. With his free hand, Eragon reached up behind his back searching for the pommel of Vrangr and was surprised to also find his second blade resting in its sheath. Not having time to question why that was, he drew the second blade much to Galbatorix's surprise and with a great shove threw the king back. He was not going to let Galbatorix have the satisfaction of robbing Evandar of his life.

Running forward, he met Galbatorix's blade blow for blow with Brisingr and Vrangr trying to knock the sword from his hands. As they continued to fight, he could tell that Galbatorix was starting to become fearful from the gleam in his black eyes. He was not expecting another opponent that would dare to challenge him apart from King Evandar it appeared. If he killed Galbatorix now, he could end everything before it started. With that resolve in mind, he twisted Brisingr nicking the king on his right arm and drawing blood.

Before he could swing his arm once more, he heard a loud bellow overhead and a torrent of wind came down on him as Shruikan dived down and swiped at him with his large tail, knocking him backwards and off of his feet, tearing a deep gash in his right shoulder. He blinked in surprise. Why had his wards not protected him? Jumping to his feet once more, Eragon was about to charge at Galbatorix before a hand gripped his uninjured shoulder followed by a strong voice in the ancient language. "No, if you fight him you will lose. We must retreat!"

Surprised, he turned to find himself facing King Evandar. The elf-king wore a grim faced expression, his armor and arms stained with blood but the light in his eyes showed his seriousness. Protest welled up in him as anger encompassed his mind as he glanced back at Galbatorix. "Your Majesty, he is before us! We must see to his end else we may never get a chance to do so anymore!"

If they wait, they would continue to have to wait for a hundred years before they had another chance to fight Galbatorix. A century…he could not wait a century while Galbatorix went about to do as he pleased. He was about to move forward, ready to ignore Evandar's command, until the king's grip on his shoulder tightened. "You will not win! He is too powerful! He has already ensured a way of victory and with his Forsworn we cannot hope to match him. There is no other way!" His expression became hard as he stared at Eragon. "Retreat now!"

All about him, he saw the elves abandon their fight with Galbatorix's followers. He saw them bend to retrieve their allies that were slain in the fighting, he saw them sheath their swords, and raise their shields as they turned away from the fighting. He had ordered a retreat before the battle was saw through. This was their defeat and as Eragon turned his head back to Galbatorix he understood why. The king had managed to collect hundreds of Eldunarí to provide him and his servants strength. They could not hope to defeat them as they were and without the aid of a Dragon Rider. Clenching the pommels of both of his swords, Eragon nodded to the king.

Their only path left was to retreat to safety. He had no means of fighting against Galbatorix. Saphira was not there with him nor his companions and his body felt too heavy and weak from the spell casted by Alagaësia. Sheathing his blades, he turned to Evandar as the elf-king ran beside him. As they ran, he heard the elves all about him gather in song, their voices coming together to weave an enchantment about the army as they began to retreat from Galbatorix. They went eastward towards the Hadarac Desert trying to escape the boundaries of the Empire and Galbatorix's reaches. But it hurt thought Eragon as he reached up to grip at his right shoulder. He saw the green mist that represented Arya's magic but it was weak and feeble. And the pounding returned once more, his head feeling fit to burst. Trying to keep pace with the king, it was near impossible for him to shrug off the stupor he was in. His body suddenly felt heavy and his limbs unresponsive.

Lagging behind Evandar, Eragon grunted when his unresponsive body refused to cooperate with him and he fell to the ground on his arms and knees. _Get up! _He wanted to listen to his mind but his heart was pounding too much in his chest. And suddenly he was gone. There was nothing left save for darkness as the world faded from him once more.

_Why are you doing this?_

_Arya that is my name. And should I call you Gabranth or Eragon?_

_Eragon, please, call me Eragon._

_I want to stand by you, Eragon…as your friend…as a fellow dragon rider…and as your mate._

_I love you, Arya._

_This world hangs in the balance Arya, to gain you must sacrifice._

_I love you Eragon._

_You gave me happiness unlike ever before, a sense of fulfillment that I did not know I was missing until we came together. Seventy years of searching and wandering, I found peace in the midst of war. I found it in you—in your soul._

_I love you Eragon._

_I want forever with you, however long it may be. The both of us together._

_I want you to know that wherever you go…I will follow._

Groaning slightly, his eyes fluttered open as he blinked trying to clear his mind of the memories of the time he spent with Arya. His head pounding still, Eragon shifted where he laid. Where was he? Lately he had been finding himself waking up in strange places which did nothing to alleviate his growing confusion with reality. Pushing himself up, Eragon glanced about. He was in a tent, a white tent to be specific but he could not remember how he had come to such a location. All he remembered was dying, his plead to Alagaësia, and appearing once more on the battlefield before Urû'baen a century earlier. Coughing slightly, he blinked glancing about himself. By his side laid Vrangr and Brisingr, both of their scabbards shining brightly.

It still did not make sense how his swords were taken back in time with him. Trying to shake the lethargy that seemed to have settled over him, he reached out to grip Vrangr, his only physical connection to Arya. Pulling the sword from its scabbard he stared at the azure blade which reminded him of Saphira and sighed. If he could not have Saphira and Arya beside him, he at least had some sort of physical representation of them even if it hurt to stare at it. _How did Alagaësia send me back along with Vrangr and Brisingr? _Though Eragon did not understand the concept of time he had always thought it impossible to send back a physical object back through time. If one did not exist in the past then they simply did not exist and yet here he was a hundred years before his time after the fall of the Riders.

Shaking his head to clear his foggy thoughts, his eyes darted to his right shoulder. It was healed from the earlier injury that Shruikan had dealt to him. The metal of his armor was torn. He did not know how it was going to be fixed seeing as it were the dwarves that fashioned the armor for him. He was certainly no master smith. Reaching up to touch the jagged ends of the torn metal, his eyes darted to his right hand and instantly a frantic panic overwhelmed him. Tearing off his gloves, he turned his right hand over to take a look at his palm.

The silver opal that was his gedwëy ignasia faced him.

A sigh of relief left his lips. He was still connected to Saphira. Even if they were torn apart by time and his own death, he still was her Rider and the thought brought a such a wave of emotions over him that he thought he might cry but instead, he merely released a deep breath. He was still connected to Saphira even if she had yet to hatch for him. And if he remembered correctly, he still held a piece of Arya's soul within him. The part of her magic that was attached to him had tried to heal his injury that he had suffered from Shruikan. It was too weak to heal his wound showing how weak their connection was but it was enough to tell him that a part of Arya still lived within him. Even if he was dead in their time, they were still alive in him in this time. Was this another gift that Alagaësia bestowed on him or was it a side effect of her magic? Either way, he was still grateful. Reaching up to lay his hand over his heart, he closed his eyes trying to feel for the part of Arya that was in him. It was weak and there was a sorrow to it at their separation but he could also feel the warmth of her love and he knew that she was still with him. The Arya in this time did not know him but his Arya would always be with him in his soul.

As he sat on the bedroll that someone had been kind enough to provide for him, Eragon's mind begin to try and piece together what had happened. One moment, he was dead standing in the sanctuary of Alagaësia and the next moment, he woke to a battlefield on the plains before Urû'baen. He had saw Evandar and Galbatorix fighting right before his very eyes. A chill ran down his spine as he realized what it was that he had just done. He had changed an event in history and that event was going to ripple outwards and subsequently alter the history that he'd known all of his life. King Evandar did not die back in the fighting with Galbatorix. He had survived and retreated in the face of certain defeat.

Trying to think back to his memories of the way the world was a century earlier, Eragon frowned. Evandar's death had been a monumental event in the lives of Islanzadí and Arya both. Mother and daughter had sought their vengeance in any way they could. Islanzadí was then made the sole ruler of Du Weldenvarden while Arya after three decades of life in Ellesméra took up her post as the elven ambassador for her people. She had once confessed to him that it was her father's death that had propelled her outside of the forest and had given her hope that one day she could be a Rider to avenge him. Would that change now that Evandar wasn't dead? Would Arya lack the motivation to venture outside the forest?

It was just too complicated for him to think of, it felt as if his mind was splitting open. _This was your wish, _thought Eragon fiercely, _do not back out of it now. _Alagaësia must have sensed some purpose in bringing him back a hundred years before his time. She must have seen something in him and his wish otherwise why would she risk sending him so far back? If only he could speak with her. Eragon's eyes widened. He could speak with her! He just needed to open the gate. Reaching forward for Vrangr, he stood pushing his bedroll to the side to reveal a patch of dirt. Taking in a deep breath, he drove the tip of Vrangr into the ground, a silent hiss went through the blade but otherwise it remained as it was.

That was odd, why wouldn't it work? He waited trying to see if blood would be forced out of the blade in order to open the gate but Vrangr remained stubbornly still. Standing there for a minute longer, he lifted his sword from the ground to study the blade. "Vrangr," whispered Eragon. It came to life with a deadly aura. The blade instantly began to glow a dark violet edge that pulsed along the blade. It still responded to him but why did it no longer respond to Alagaësia? Sheathing his blade, Eragon returned to his bedroll deep in thought.

He was only certain of a few things. First was that he was a hundred years back in time. Second, he had somehow managed to retain his swords. Third, he was alive and finally, the power that lay within Vrangr was too weak to open the gate to Alagaësia. Could that be because the part of Asura that was within him was not strong enough? He knew that Asura was still a part of his soul just as Arya was but there was something strange with the workings of his body at the moment. He could not understand himself in the context of this world as he understood himself in his own time. Who was he?

Was he still Eragon Shadeslayer? Was he still a Kingkiller? A Rider?

Rubbing his temple, Eragon frowned, feeling the headache return once more and he wanted to desperately lash out to relieve himself of the feelings that bombarded him. He felt lonely, he felt frustrated, and most of all he felt out of place. He was still the Wandering Fire it seemed. His wandering was never going to end was it? A despondent chuckle left his lips as he thought about his situation. Now he was truly lonely. Saphira was not here with him and he could no longer depend on her strength. His mother was yet to be born as well as his servants all with the exception of Rosalie. He blinked, he could seek Rosalie out but would she follow him as she did in his time? Or would she merely cast him off as a bothersome pest as she did most men? There were so many questions and yet no answers to be easily found. Then there was also Arya. If he did his calculations correctly, she was only three at this time.

He groaned another tremendous headache making its way to the forefront. Shaking his head, he stood and slipped Brisingr onto its place on his waist while he strapped Vrangr onto his back. There was no use of trying to split his head open just thinking. He would have more time to think about his current situation. At the moment, he had to go about trying to reevaluate what was going on now. After saving King Evandar's life, he had a suspicion that time was going to begin to deviate from what he remembered.

Before exiting the tent, Eragon made sure to check over his wards and to his surprise, he had none currently protecting him. That was odd. Alagaësia had managed to send back his physical body as well as Vrangr and Brisingr but his wards did not hold out in the face of the travel through time. Wrapping his wards about himself once more, Eragon pushed the tent flap aside to be greeted by the warmth of the sun and an open meadow. Where was he? All about he could see several tents, his eyes flew to the closest person by him and they landed on an elf-man who was studying his pale blade with narrowed eyes. His expression was stoic but he could see the anger in his eyes. He was no doubt angered by the fact that they had lost to Galbatorix.

Eragon turned away from the sight, floundering on the spot. What was he supposed to do now? He had no sense of purpose and he did not know the command structure anymore. As he appeared, he was an elf and they would no doubt consider him as such. He did not dare to tell them of his true origins and nor did he even want to consider what they would do to him if he told him he was from a future a hundred years before their time. Would they eradicate him as a threat to history? Or would they use them for their own means? He did not even want to consider the possibilities.

"Ah you are awake," he turned his head to find a dark haired elf staring at him with a kind expression. Usually, in his own time the only elf to stare at him decently was Arya. Every other elf kept their distance and when they did speak with him it was usually rather polite and distanced. It seemed as if they thought of him as one of their own. He could only nod politely to the elf who continued to greet him.

"Atra esterní ono thelduin, Shur'tugal."

"Atra du evarínya ono varda," Eragon replied not missing a beat. He did not know how the elf knew he was a Rider but he could only think that the sight of Vrangr and Brisingr spoke for his title as Rider more so than he did. The elf inclined his head to him.

"Evandar Könungr has asked that if you were to wake that he would like to speak to you," said the elf. He paused before he continued. "If you would seek him out at the command tent, he shall be ready for you."

"Yes of course," said Eragon trying his best to remain civilized. He was no longer a Dragon Rider in this time and he had to live underneath a guise for a moment. Without Saphira and Arya, he was unsure of what the elves would do to him. He could not risk it. Instead, he began to wander about the encampment trying to find the supposed command tent that the elf talked about. It was a rather difficult task seeing as almost all the tents appeared similar. It wasn't until he came across a white tent with rather regal symbols and two guards stationed on either side of the entrance did he recognize the command tent. And if his memory served him correctly, Queen Islanzadí also had a similar command structure.

One of the guards stationed outside the tent took one look at him before she nodded to her male companion. He waited patiently watching as she drew back the flap and entered to announce his presence. If Eragon was glad about one thing it was the fact that the command structure did not change in the last century. A minute passed and the female guard reappeared. She nodded to him and waved him inside. Giving them one last glance, Eragon pushed the tent flap aside and entered the tent.

Inside, he spotted King Evandar speaking to someone by way of mirror, though he could not see the other person, Eragon could hazard a good assumption as to who it was. Hesitating slightly, he glanced about the tent. He did not spot the other lords or even Lord Däthedr, who was Islanzadí's most trusted advisors, within the tent. It was merely just King Evandar. He still wore his golden corselet but now it was cleaned and unstained. A thin blade hung from his hip and once more Eragon was struck at how Evandar was very similar in way of his mate. Or perhaps it was a trait that all monarchs carried for he did not know. Walking deeper into the spacious command tent, he glanced at the folding table littered with maps and reports in which the flameless lantern that hung on the tent post shined down on. Curious as to what it was Eragon had to restrain himself as he watched Evandar bid whoever he was speaking to farewell.

The king turned and Eragon caught sight of dark raven hair before the mirror was cleared. Was that Queen Islanzadí? He barely had any time to contemplate who the person was before Evandar turned to him with waiting eyes. In the moment that he laid his eyes on Evandar, Eragon wondered what it was that drew Islanzadí to the elf-king. Certainly not status for she was a princess of her own right. But there was something in the way that Evandar held himself that bespoke of a trait that he'd seen in Arya. The rather stern looking king stood out against the other elves just as how Islanzadí did when he met her for the first time. He was regal and imposing and his presence demanded the respect that it deserved.

Eragon touched his lips and then twisted his right hand over his sternum, remembering that he should be the one to greet the king first. "Evandar Könungr. Atra esterní ono thelduin."

"Atra du evarínya ono varda, Shur'tugal," Evandar responded in kind. In the earlier fury of battle, Eragon had been unable to process his surroundings well enough but now with his mind cleared did he realize that the king had a rich voice just as Islanzadí and Galbatorix had. There was a smoothness to it that could outshine even the strongest of orators. In this one moment, Eragon understood that King Evandar could be his greatest enemy or his greatest ally. While Queen Islanzadí was a daunting figure—both imposing and royal in all rights, she was also very cunning. The first time he had met the queen, she had used an audience of nobles to manipulate Arya into accepting her forgiveness. If Evandar was anything like his mate, it made him a person to be weary of.

"Un atra mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr," Eragon completed the greeting giving his highest regards to the king. Arya respected her father greatly. She respected Evandar to the point that she had devoted a greater part of her life to exact vengeance for her father's death. And it was his death that had given Arya the needed motivation to leave the safeties of Du Weldenvarden and take up the yawë. This was the man that had shaped Arya unknowingly in his death.

Evandar regarded him for a long moment before he lifted his hand motioning for Eragon to straighten. He did so waiting for the elf king to speak. "What is your name, Rider?" he asked curiously and Eragon blinked. He was positive that the king would know of all the Riders currently and those that were lost in the battle. This was a predicament. He could try to lie his way through the entire exchange but if it was seen through he could lose what little trust he had gartered from rescuing Evandar from Galbatorix.

The only way to go about this was to be as truthful as he could be without giving away too much information. "Eragon, Your Majesty," answered Eragon watching as a startled look crossed Evandar's face before it disappeared to be replace with curiosity tinged with caution.

"May I ask as to what family you are from Eragon?"

That was right, thought Eragon his mind racing as he tried to reel the situation in, elves introduced themselves based on family name and house. Eragon was not an elf and therefore could not merely make up a name on the spot. He could not have the king finding out that he was indeed from the future. He was not sure how Evandar would react and the knowledge alone was too dangerous to share. Not yet as of presently. Trying to find a roundabout way of answering, he tentatively settled for one. "I do not belong to a house," said Eragon glad when the ancient language flowed from him without any hesitation. "I have no family."

Once more he could see the surprise that settled over Evandar's face at his words. It was true for as of this moment, Eragon did not have a family. His family was not born yet. In this one instance, he was truly glad for the loopholes that the ancient language presented. If he just tiptoed along this line he would be fine. "What of your dragon?"

"Galbatorix has taken her from me," said Eragon once more glad that he could speak in the ancient language albeit in a roundabout way of doing so. Evandar stared at him with a sad expression, looking sympathetic to him. It was true; Galbatorix had killed him and in doing so had taken Saphira away from him.

"I see," said Evandar, "I am sorry for your loss."

Eragon nodded and he felt the deep ache of not having Saphira by his side anymore. He waited for Evandar to continue knowing that the last of the questioning was still far off. Evandar's gray eyes became piercing as he scrutinized Eragon. "I know I am being frank with you Eragon," Evandar spoke in a hard voice, curiosity still evident in his tone, "But I have yet to hear of a Rider with the name Eragon for it is a name rarely bestowed upon children."

"I was not part of the Order," said Eragon watching as a gleam entered Evandar's eyes. "I raised my dragon on my own." Though Galbatorix did give him Saphira's egg to see if she would hatch for him, Eragon was the one who raised her. That was the truth in his life a hundred years earlier and he could only hope that King Evandar did not ask how he learned magic or what not for if he did he would be hard pressed to answer. He could not say that Galbatorix thought him for it would lead to the king doubting his loyalties.

"How did you come across an egg?" Eragon blinked gritting his teeth. If it was Islanzadí questioning him, he would be hard pressed to answer for he knew that she would not trust him but King Evandar appeared to be different from his mate in some aspects. He sought words and then without any other way to go about his answer, he decided to speak honestly.

"Galbatorix gave me the egg," he expected Evandar to draw his sword but he did not instead, he merely watched Eragon curiously as he continued to explain. "He taught me the ways of the Riders and wanted me to serve him…but I refused him. I do not want to fight for him nor his Forsworn."

Evandar nodded understanding pervading his gray eyes. Eragon was confused at his trust and wondered whether or not the king was merely fooling him. But when Evandar spoke once more it was not as he thought. "You said that Galbatorix was the reason why your dragon is no longer with you." Eragon inwardly winced. It wasn't Saphira who was dead, he was dead. He was dead in their time at least. "I suspect that is why you decided to fight against him as opposed to with him. You want revenge for his betrayal."

"Yes," relieved that most of the questioning was done, Eragon paved forward. "Which is why I would like to request a favor from you Your Majesty."

"And what favor would you wish of me?" asked Evandar, his stern face unchanging. "You have saved my life and I shall see what I can do to grant you what it is that you seek. But tread lightly Eragon for there is little to be given in such dark times."

_Yes, I know. _He nodded, "I would like to seek asylum in Ellesméra for the time being. It will only be until I can find a purpose to devote myself to." Now, he was going to leave it to the king to decide. Would he allow a former student of Galbatorix's entrance into Du Weldenvarden or would he turn him away? If it was Queen Islanzadí, she would have had him apprehended the moment she learned that Galbatorix had taught him the ways of the Riders. She would have been certain that Eragon was a spy for the king. Evandar on the other hand regarded him for a long moment and Eragon stared back.

After a long moment in which Eragon thought the king was going to deny him, Evandar spoke, "Your request can only be granted if you swear an oath to me in the ancient language that you do not mean me or my people any harm, that you are what you claim to be, and that you shall not cause any sort of trouble during your stay."

Once more relieved at a chance of reprieve, Eragon did as he was asked and swore those oaths to Evandar. The king, Eragon realized, was a very generous person. He thought of the elf before him and how Arya had told him before that Evandar was a generous and kind king to his people. He remembered the story of how Evandar had blessed Blagden and could only come to the conclusion that between him and Islanzadí, Evandar was the gentler of the two. When he was done, Evandar nodded to him and then he smiled.

"I hope that you will enjoy your time in Ellesméra when we arrive," then his face tightened, "For there is not much to enjoy these days." He turned away from Eragon, his eyes flickering to the map that laid open on his folding table.

"If you do not mind me asking, Your Majesty, but where are we?" asked Eragon trying to ascertain a location.

"We have been traveling for three days hence the Battle for Iliera," said Evandar his eyes flickering from the folding table to Eragon and back. "You were recovering from whatever it was that ailed you during our travels. In another day, we shall reach the outskirts of Du Weldenvarden."

"And what of Iliera?" asked Eragon already knowing what it was that the king was going to tell him.

"The city has fallen to Galbatorix and his Forsworn," said Evandar with a strained expression. "He has renamed it Urû'baen," the way the king said the name instantly told Eragon that he did not agree with the renaming of the ancient elven city. "The entire whole of the western front of Alagaësia has fallen to Galbatorix and his servants. The last of the fighting has exhausted all of our forces and without the Dragon Riders to fight him all we can do is retreat for the meantime. A master hunter always bid one's time before they ensnare their pray, or so they say I can only hope that this is true of our situation."

Eragon nodded; surprised that Evandar would speak to him so comfortably. Once more he could not help but compare the king with his mate and his daughter. Out of the family of three, it appeared that Evandar was indeed gentler than his daughter and mate. At the thought of Arya he felt another pang in his heart. The Arya that he would soon see would not be the one that he knew. And he was fearful, very fearful of what was to become of their relationship when time passed them by. In this time Fäolin was still alive. Would she love him? The thought of it gripped his heart and he fought the growing fear in his mind.

"If you will leave me, Eragon, there are certain matters that I have to attend to," said Evandar, his eyes flickered to Eragon resting on Brisingr and Vrangr momentarily before they darted away. It seemed as if he would ask his questions once more another day. Eragon was glad for he did not know how to go about explaining the existence of both of his swords yet. He said his farewells to the king, thanking him once more for his kindness before he made to leave pausing when Evandar called out to him once more. "Eragon, if you find that you have time, there is another Rider who has lost his dragon to Galbatorix and the Forsworn. Perhaps the two of you can share in each other's grief for one does not understand another fully until they have stepped in their shoes."

"Yes Your Majesty," said Eragon as he stepped outside. _Another Rider? _He thought of the possibilities as he exited the tent. Who could this other Rider be? As he made his way back to his tent where he woke, the thought struck him like a blow to the gut. The Rider whom King Evandar spoke of had to be his father, Brom. He had remembered Murtagh speaking to him about how Brom had fought in the Battle for Iliera and how he had retreated with the elves to recover from his injuries only to leave Du Weldenvarden and form the Varden.

He blinked and suddenly his headache from earlier had come back. He had difficulties dealing with his father who was a wise and knowledgeable man back in his own time. He was positive that he was going to have even more difficulties dealing with a young and brash Brom. At least fate decided to keep one aspect of his life constant, thought Eragon wryly. No matter the time period, he would always find difficulties in dealing with his father.

**There was a question that asked about my update speed for TMF and I have no answer for that really. Sometime I may update rather quick and other times it may take a few days maybe even a week (hopefully there won't be an instance where it'll take a week to do so). Another concern. I know you all want Saphira to be a part of this story but for the beginning part there won't be Saphira (she will appear later) due to the theory of time travel in this story (which will slowly unravel as the story progresses much like RL). There's that concern addressed. Oh, and about Brisingr and Vrangr those two will also be addressed later on in the story (like RL once again). Since CP never really touched up on time travel, I've worked it out in my head and it makes sense and I can't wait to eventually write the theory out though it might take time to get there so just wait patiently Oh and look forward to Arya's first entrance scene in TMF! ****Anyways see you all soon!**


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**And the third chapter of this story is up for you all. I've been putting out some time to go over the chapters and fix some mistakes that I catch so I can deliver a spiffing chapter for you all to read! (Hope all the extra time was put to some good use!). Anyways to address some concerns, yes this story will be ExA but it won't be as smooth as RL. There will be some obstacles along the way (hehehe). And yes, this story will have some 'jumps in time'. I don't think I can do a chapter of his life every day or even week for a near century. That would be rather repetitive and it won't serve much of a purpose besides reiterating that Eragon has several decades to live out before his time comes. I think those were the major questions to be addressed so happy reading! R&R!**

It wasn't until the second day of traveling with Evandar and his company did Eragon have the misfortune of stumbling across his father. He had merely decided to have some fresh air from his tent and away from the elves did he meet the young and brash Brom. It was a sight that he did not enjoy and nor did he particularly like it when his father had the audacity to speak down to him. Just thinking about how easily this could have been avoided, Eragon blinked when the man before him spoke in his questioning anger. Brom was not gray haired and aged as Eragon remembered him to be. Instead, he was younger with chestnut hair that could match Eragon's but lighter and with piercing azure eyes that were clouded with grief and anger. If Eragon were to place his age, he would say that his father was in his mid-second decade. And yet, his mind was that of a young boy who could not move past his anger. He reminded Eragon of himself before he joined the Varden.

_I was always angry, always filled with hate and resentment, always waiting for death, _thought Eragon sadly as he gazed upon his father remembering how he had stumbled across the man. He did not live a happy childhood and he would not wish that type of mindset on anyone else. _Like father like son, _thought Eragon amused, _how ironic fate is._

Earlier that day, he had decided to leave the comfort of his tent and venture outside. Yesterday evening, they had managed to make it to the outskirts of Du Weldenvarden and the majority of the elves had dispersed in many directions returning to their homes before the war broke out. Meanwhile the company that lived in Ellesméra, particularly the high lords, remained with Evandar to travel with the king back to the capital to deliver the devastating news of their loss. While everyone was going on about their own business, Eragon about had it with all the formalities and whatnot that the elves seemed to pile upon him. He wished to be himself, he wished to not mind the need for eloquence and common etiquette but he lacked the authority to do so in this time. He was another soldier—another Rider with a loss. _A Rider without a dragon is as useless as the next person._

Unable to remain in the camp any longer without a means to vent his frustration, he sought to move away from the encampment that felt as if it were confining him. He could not understand how one could live like the elves did. He may appear an elf but he would always be a human at heart. Curving around the base of a rather large pine tree, he continued onwards hearing the sound of a running stream. Having not bathed since he had traveled back through time, he would at least like to clean his face. Remembering what Arya said about elves valuing hygiene, he sighed as he studied his nails. There was some dirt underneath some of his nails but for the main part they were clean. Though he needed to round some of his nails out and perhaps even rubbed some oil on the surface. He winced as the thought made its way through his mind. Perhaps he did take up some elf tendencies.

Shaking his head, he easily stepped over several large roots that protruded from the ground and continued on his way through the forest and towards the stream remembering his path as he did so. The forest of Du Weldenvarden was large and if he was not careful he could easily become lost within it for all the trees appeared similar and the surroundings blended in with one another. He did not like the idea of losing his way in the forest and therefore made sure to keep a close eye on the direction he was heading so that he could retrace his steps back to the camp.

Ducking underneath a low branch, he once more let his thoughts wander. He had never been to Du Weldenvarden without Saphira and Arya. The two of them had been his only source of comfort and security in such a foreign place, isolated from the world just as the Beor Mountains were. To be back here now without them made him feel the stark loneliness from earlier return and once more the sudden fear. He was afraid to meet Arya once more and to have her look upon him and see no more than a stranger. In this time he did not save her life. In this time, the two of them were not connected in any way apart from the fact that he saved her father's life. But other than that, he was nothing to her. And he was sure that Fäolin —when she grew older—would mean much more to her than he did. At the thought of Fäolin a chill washed over him. Though Arya never went out and said it, he knew that a part of her before she had met him and loved him had some sort of romantic feelings for Fäolin . He had never questioned her past but he wandered what it was that laid between the two of them. She had said that they were good friends but…there had to be something more.

His mind went back to the time she had confessed to him at Lake Tüdosten. When she had kissed him, it was so experienced that he had wondered if she had learned…from her time spent with Fäolin ? Instantly, he felt an iciness wash over him as he nearly wanted to double over with pain at the thought of Arya loving Fäolin over him. Would she still choose him over Fäolin ? The thought of it nearly made him physically sick. Placing a hand on the tree beside him, he took in a deep breath frowning at the sweat that seemed clung to his forehead.

He would not think of it. Now was not the time. Arya was still young. She was still a child. When she was older and perhaps if he was still alive he would worry over her choice. But he could not help but have a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. Arya, despite her own opinions about her standings, was a princess. Fäolin , whom Eragon did not know well enough, was no doubt from a noble family. While in this time he, Eragon, had nothing. He had no titles to be offered. He was no longer a Dragon Rider, he was not yet a Shadeslayer, he was not a Kingkiller—he was nothing. Compared to Fäolin , he was certainly not the most prominent of suitors. And to add to it, Fäolin was a "kindred" spirit while he had a foul temper and a rather indifferent personality. The Arya currently was already changed from the one that he knew. And he was uncertain of whether the one he would eventually meet and come to learn about would be the same Arya from his time.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Eragon frowned, his brows furrowing with the action. He did not feel well and thinking about Arya only served to make him feel uneasy. Clearing his thoughts of Arya once more, his mind latched onto another topic that was rather painful for him to think of: _Saphira. _She was still in the clutches of Galbatorix and though Eragon could attempt to go and steal her away, he would have to wait until Galbatorix was too confident with his safety within his citadel and walls. Presently, it would be too dangerous for him to attempt to whisk the eggs away from Galbatorix. Having just overthrown the Riders and defeating the last of the resistance, the king was no doubt cautious of his treasures. It was as Evandar had said; he was merely going to have to bid his time. _Wait for me Saphira._ Eragon was not worried about Saphira's safety for he knew Galbatorix would take care of the eggs but he did not like the idea of having her within the king's confines for too long.

Circling about another tree trunk, he emerged from the forest into an open clearing where a steady stream was flowing. Farther up he saw a doe drinking from the stream and could only smile slightly at the peaceful scene. His eyes returning to the stream, Eragon blinked as they passed over a figure that sat on the bank with his back turned to him. He could not see much of the person but he saw that the person had light chestnut hair. He appeared familiar to Eragon but he could not place where he had seen the man before. All he could do was merely stare at his back. His posture was tensed and his hands were clenched as if he was in deep anger.

Eragon stepped forward not being overly quiet with his footsteps and announced his presence as his boots crunched the soft grass beneath his feet. The person tensed and he could see his hand moving to the pommel of his sword that was attached to his hip. Eragon took another step forward and then a sharp voice rang out, "Who goes there?" though the voice was younger, he could still recognize it in the older and sharper voice of his father in his present day.

Eragon resisted the urge to merely ignore his father. It was not as if he could not wander near the stream if he wanted to. Brom had no right to tell him what to do nor demand answers from him even if it was a mere introduction. He pushed the urge away, however, as he remembered the grief and betrayal that his father was going through. Eventually, Eragon answered him. "Eragon."

His tensed posture relaxed slightly and his hand moved away from the pommel of his sword. Having half the mind to leave Brom where he was sitting and return to the camp, Eragon paused. A part of him did not want to deal with his younger father. It would be easier if he did not approach him nor share his sympathies with the young Brom. But he knew just how much his father was grieving, perhaps even more so than Eragon was. While Eragon was separated from Saphira, he knew that in time he would be reunited with her. But for Brom, his dragon—his Saphira—was gone. In that one moment of understanding, Eragon found himself walking forward.

"You must be Brom," said Eragon knowing fully well that the angry man before him was indeed Brom. How odd it was to stare at his young father who did not know who he was. He watched as Brom made his way to his feet turning about to stare at Eragon. When blue eyes met his, he was not surprised to see a lack of recognition in the eyes that Ella had inherited when she was born. What was surprising was how much it cut him to the quick that the man—his very father—did not recognize his own son. Though Eragon appeared more elvish now, he had thought that in his features a part of his father might show. But it was apparent that was not so for Brom continued to stare at him as if he were a stranger.

His eyes darted to Brisingr which rested against Eragon's hip and Vrangr which was strapped to his back and instantly he darted forward. "Where did you get those swords?" he asked, his words biting and short. Eragon furrowed his brow as he let Brom's words wash over him. Was he speaking of Vrangr and Brisingr?

"You speak of my swords I believe?" asked Eragon trying to make head of such a situation. He was still reeling from the fact that currently he was speaking to his younger father who did not know who he was and was pinning him with such a stare that Eragon would even go as far as to say that it made him uncomfortable.

"Do you think I am speaking of my swords?" asked Brom looking rather close to rolling his eyes. Eragon stared at him near affronted by his attitude. This angry man was his father? The very same man whom his mother had fallen in love with? He stared at his father for a long moment and fought the urge to snap back at him. But he reminded himself once more that this man was near crazed from the loss of his dragon. Losing Saphira and Arya as well as his family had driven Eragon to plead with Alagaësia for a second chance, he could only sympathize as to how Brom was faring. "Of course I am speaking of your swords."

Ignoring the obvious tone of his voice, Eragon gestured to Vrangr and Brisingr, "I made this one," said Eragon gesturing to Brisingr watching as Brom's eyes widen in surprise and astonishment. It was true, while Rhunön had used his body as a medium to forge the blade; in essence it was Eragon who _actually _forged the blade of Brisingr. Then he gestured to Vrangr, "And this one was gifted to me…by a close friend." He couldn't very well say that Arya had forged him Vrangr. It would lead to too many questions that he did not want to answer.

Instead, he merely watched as Brom's face fell. Observing him for a moment, he blinked when realization came to him that Brom was hoping that perhaps one of Eragon's swords was his that he had lost. Undbitr he remembered the name of the sword to be. Brom faltered and he saw as the light left his eyes leaving behind a tremendous sorrow. He then turned and made his way back to the bank. Eragon blinked and unbidden by him, his feet carried him to Brom's side and he sat down beside the man. A long moment passed between them and he was unsure of what to say before Brom spoke quietly.

"It is not so much the sword that bothers me but rather its meaning," said Brom quietly his eyes flickering to Brisingr and Eragon could read the clear longing in his eyes. Unsure of what to do but certain of his need to comfort Brom, Eragon slid Brisingr from his waist and handed the sword to Brom to study. Hopefully, he would not comment on how the blade was thinner than most Riders sword at this moment in time and how it was sharper at the end so that it could easily sink through armor in Eragon's time. He watched as Brom took Brisingr in his hand, his eyes studying the deep and rich sapphire of the scabbard before he pulled the sword from its sheath with a silent hiss, his eyes widening at the beauty of the blade.

As he observed Brom studying Brisingr, the flash of longing in his eyes seemed to intensify. Then he remembered his words. _It is not so much the sword that bothers me but rather its meaning. _Every Riders blade was forged so that the hue of the blade matched the hue of their dragon. While Brisingr and Vrangr were representations of Saphira, Undbitr was a physical representation of Brom's Saphira. A deep sadness pervaded him at the thought of his father's loss. He had lost Saphira and his sword. The only connection he had to his dragon was his gedwëy ignasia which Eragon glimpsed on his right palm. His eyes flickered to his own right palm.

_We are more similar than I thought us to be, _thought Eragon his eyes never leaving Brom as he continued to stare at Brisingr as if trying to ingrain in his mind the memory of its color. After a moment, he sheathed Brisingr and returned the sword to him.

"It is a beautiful sword," he said quietly. "Your dragon…must have been as beautiful as your blades."

"She is more beautiful," Eragon replied thinking of Saphira, the pain that came with her memory aching within him. "Much more beautiful than my swords could give meaning to." And he meant it. As much as Brisingr and Vrangr represented Saphira, they could never match her true beauty. Saphira would have no doubt been flattered by his thoughts but she wasn't here to share in his mind and emotions anymore.

"What happened to her?" Brom asked quietly, his blue eyes fixed on the stream.

_It isn't what happened to her, but what happened to me, _thought Eragon in the lonely confines of his mind. It was odd not to have his connection with Saphira anymore, not mentally at least. It was hard to imagine that he had been _dead _and it was only Alagaësia's mercy that saved him. He thought about the world for a moment and how it appeared to him. Was this really his Alagaësia? Was this reality? Or was he still dead but he did not simply know anymore? _Death, the greatest adventure of all…one that I did not wish to undertake._

"Galbatorix," said Eragon simply. His answer appeared to be enough for Brom for the man nodded. After a long moment of silence once more, he spoke. "And what of your dragon?"

"She was killed in the fighting at Doru Araeba," Brom's jaws clenched and Eragon could tell that he was struggling within himself for words. His earlier rage seemed to have returned to him and he could see him struggling to try and restrain his emotions. Feeling as if he was intruding on a personal moment, Eragon darted his eyes away back upstream. The doe that had been drinking from the water had gone leaving merely him and Brom. _I never knew that silence could be so loud._

"Will you seek revenge?" asked Eragon quietly knowing fully well that Brom would devote his entire life to creating methods and strategies to bring Morzan to his grave. He was going to extract vengeance from all of the Forsworn—that was his legacy. At least until he met his mother, Selena. Love would be enough to change him from the raging man he was to the wise and knowledge father he was going to be. _Another trait we share, _thought Eragon wryly. While Selena had invoked change in Brom, Arya had invoked change in Eragon.

"That is the only way left for Riders," said Brom with a hard voice as he turned his blue eyes to Eragon. "You and I are the only Riders left apart from…" He stopped faltering and Eragon knew that Brom was about to mention Oromis and Glaedr but he did not seem to trust in Eragon fully or maybe he did not trust in himself to speak the truth about their master. A second passed and then his determined expression had returned to his face. "It is our duty to avenge what was lost—our dragons, our Order, and our homes. What Galbatorix and his servants did was unforgivable and never—as long as I shall live and even in death itself—never shall I forgive them."

Eragon nodded. Though it seemed an unhealthy obsession, as long as it gave him a sense of purpose he was not going to deny Brom his thirst for revenge. He understood the feeling well enough, he could even empathize with Brom on a certain level. Whenever there was a purpose, it was always much easier to control one's rage.

"And what will you do?" Brom asked turning to Eragon.

"I would like to fight against Galbatorix," said Eragon as Brom grunted in approval, he paved on. "However, for the meantime I would like to seek asylum within Du Weldenvarden."

Instantly, the earlier approval was gone and instead Brom looked at him outraged. Rather than flinching away, Eragon held his stare waiting for him to burst with indignation at the fact that a Rider would merely stand by and let the traitor to their Order do as he pleased. "You would stow away while Galbatorix seeks to control Alagaësia? You will not avenge your dragon?"

"We must bid our time," said Eragon refusing to neither budge nor fall to anger at how Brom was speaking to him currently. Had this been any other time, he would have snapped back at his father.

"We must strike while the iron is hot!"

"Which can lead to reckless and irrevocable results."

"Which can lead to a way for us to fight Galbatorix! The longer we let him do as he pleases, the stronger he shall become and by then we will never have another opportunity," said Brom adamantly, a raging inferno in his piercing blue eyes. When Eragon made no move to answer him, he made to his feet. Then he said in a harsh voice, "Do what you will but know this, I will not relent."

He then turned and left making his way back to the camp leaving Eragon to sit by the stream deep in thought. To think that the Brom who had just left and the one who had fathered him were the same person. It was almost unbelievable. Almost. Leaning back onto his hands, he sighed as he stared up at the sky above him, taking in cloudless blue. "What am I to do Saphira?" whispered Eragon feeling lost.

In truth, he did not like the idea of waiting but that was all he could do. If he became too involved at the moment it could end up jeopardizing the entire struggle against Galbatorix. He needed to wait for Brom—in all of his rage—to form the Varden. Then when Weldon took command, he would be able to offer his assistance without fear of the entire history since the fall of the Riders deviating radically. Waiting always made him restless and when he was restless he was impatient. It was a flaw in his character but he could not change that particular aspect of him.

_Would I change?_

He knew his true name was still as it was but he couldn't help but wonder if the events in this time would propel his name into changing. He did not want his true name to change. For if it changed, then that meant that the Eragon in the future never really existed and that thought alone was enough to crush him. _Who am I?_

Sighing once more, he merely sat there by the stream for an unknown amount of hours trying to think of what was to become of his life. What would he do? He had thought that he could simply wait until the opportune time to aid in the fighting. But what would he do during the time he waited? He did not like idly sitting by while the world passed him by. Then there was also the problem of Arya. What would he do regarding the elf princess that in his future was his mate, his soul bond? A part of him wanted to seek her out and tell her how much he cared, how much she meant to him. But another part of him knew that it was folly to do so. He could not seek Arya out no matter how much his feelings meant. He could only wait and see if fate would bring her to him. It had brought her to him in his time, he could only pray that it would spare his ardent feelings and bring her to him once more.

At the thought of depending on fate Eragon chuckled darkly.

_What are we but mere pawns in this game called fate?_

Was it his fate to die? Was it his fate to go back in time? Or was it his own selfishness that had driven him here? If he had accepted his fate and had died, there would have been no need to fear about the outcome of the war to come. His life was a small price to pay for the century of fighting—of struggling to their very last breath—against Galbatorix. And he had thrown at all away for more _time _with his loved ones, for another chance. Leaning forward, Eragon blinked trying to keep his expression from becoming twisted in anguish as he passed a hand over his face. If Brom came back, he did not want him to see him in such a state.

The greed of one man can destroy a lifetime of effort.

He now understood the meaning to that particular phrase. He had never thought himself to be greedy, spoilt perhaps but never greedy. He hated himself because in that one moment he was the man that was greedy. He was the man that had thrown away all the sacrifices, all of their efforts for a near century so that he could live again. Even if the events that spanned from the fall of the Riders up to his present time did not occur yet, it did not mean they did not transpire for Eragon. In his life, Ajihad had died when he returned from routing the Urgals. Hrothgar was killed by Jeremiah. Fäolin and Glenwing were slain by Durza and the Urgals that had ambushed them. Years upon years of sacrifice and they had finally won. They had defeated Galbatorix and it was his desire to live again that had undone the future and brought forth a past that was tragic, sorrowful, and dark.

_This is the burden of my decision._

He had wanted this, he had pleaded for it and now it was his. Alagaësia gave him the power of knowledge and allowed him to play a role close to that of a god's. He had a hundred years' worth of knowledge to fight against Galbatorix with. He knew of events that have yet to happen and he could change the future. He could do a task that not even the greatest sages could ever do. But to do so, would he in turn destroy his future? He thought about it for a moment. Would his mother exist sixty years from now? Would Murtagh be born? Would he be born?

And even if they were born, he knew deep down, that they would not be the same people from his memories. Arya would not be herself. He had already prevented her father's death and therefore effectively destroyed one of her greatest motivation in life. A choked sound escaped him as he thought of the Arya in this time and the one that he knew and loved. Already a great piece of her was chipping away, falling to nothingness. In his mind, he heard her voice as she spoke to him. Even if it was a mere memory in his mind, it was nothing in this time for it did not happen and it never would.

_He devoted his entire life to our cause, always valiant, always willing. But that day that I heard of his fall by Galbatorix, it changed my entire life. My mother was left to rule our people while I…_

He clenched his jaw as the Arya in his memories continued to speak no more than a whisper of what she used to be now.

_Since I carried Thorn's egg, I had always wished to become a dragon rider to avenge my father and to protect my people. It wasn't until Eridor hatched for me that my dream became reality._

It was as if he had killed her. The Arya, whom he knew, so devoted to her people and late father was gone. She would no longer tell him that everything she had done for the better part of a century was fueled by her desire to seek justice for King Evandar. Knowing, simply knowing that another Arya existed and yet was unable to flourish because of his actions made him want to yell out in frustration. It made him want to destroy something. It made him want to hate himself. This was his sin for asking for a second chance. He was going to destroy the world that he knew to recreate another one. And in it, he was going to destroy the existence of those he came to know and love. He was going to keep them from becoming the people they should be, he was going to warp their lives with his decisions.

_This is my sin to bear._

His eyes stinging with his grief, a shaky breath escaped him and he fought hard to keep his composure. He did not want to give way now. He did not want to mourn. Could he mourn for something that no longer existed? He thought of Saphira, Arya, his mother and father, Murtagh, Nasuada, and so many others whom he was going to possibly change to the point that they would no longer resemble the people he knew. Then he thought of himself. Was he going to change? Was this Eragon going to exist once he was reborn? The thought of not being who he was—of losing himself once more frightened him but he could not continue to be selfish. If he was altering the lives of others, it was only fair retribution that his life was also altered that this Eragon like his Arya no longer existed in this timeline.

A brief silence washed over him and unable to help himself, he murmured his true name. A tremor ran through his body at the sound of his name and profuse relief pervaded his body. He was still him. His relief only lasted momentarily before another name slipped from between his lips. In his heart he recognized the name and he could feel the part of Arya within him resonate to it but otherwise the world remained still and silent. Unbidden by him a tear escaped his eyes as he thought of Arya's true name. It was still her true name, it was the true name of the Arya from his time and as he promised her, he would forever cherish and protect it for it was her name.

But that was the only promise he could keep to her amongst the many that he had told her. He had promised that one day they would visit Vroengard, that they would search the tunnels of Farthen Dûr for the flower that she spoke of, that they would have a future together after the war. _Broken promises, that is what they are._

Eragon did not know how long it was that he sat there by the stream but he could not find it in himself to move. If he returned to the camp now, he would surely be unable to keep his composure especially if he saw King Evandar once more for the king would only remind him of the sin that he had committed. He would remind him that he, Eragon Shadeslayer, had changed the past and consequently the future with it as well. It was not until night was beginning to fall did Eragon force himself to his feet.

He could not sit there and wallow in his sorrow any longer. If he did, he would go mad with grief. For now, he would lock away his emotions for a later time. He would mourn over his loss after things had been said and done. Sitting there and drowning in his own self-pity would surely have caused Saphira to become irritated at him. He was stronger than that. At least he would like to think himself strong. Turning away from the stream, he began to make his way back towards the camp. Before he was fully encircled by the large pine trees, Eragon turned his head back to stare at the peaceful clearing.

"I'm sorry."

It was not directed towards anyone but his feelings behind the apology were sincere. He meant those two words with every fiber in his being and could only hope that those it was meant for understood. Without another glance back, he turned and continued forward retracing his footsteps through the darkening forest. If it weren't for his keen sight, he would have lost his way. Glad that he had undergone several transformations in his lifetime, Eragon easily maneuvered about the trees as if the sun was shining down on him rather than the dark night blanketing him.

Feeling calmer than he did earlier while he was thinking by the stream, he was confident that he would be able to continued playing the façade of a Rider who had lost his dragon to Galbatorix. It was ironic to think that he had finally managed to undo the puzzle that surrounded his identity and yet he could not live as who he was. He had learned who he was and understood himself more than anything back at Vroengard and now he could not live as himself. He would have to live in hiding and behind a mask until time righted itself or until he righted time, whichever came first.

As he neared the camp, he passed two guards on patrol and nodded to them. They did not make anything unusual out of his late return to the camp but merely inclined their heads at him to acknowledge his presence. He was not sure what unsettled him more: the elves being distant or the elves being familiar. Either way, he was going to have to live in their presence for some time now. He did not know what he was going to make of the time he spent in Ellesméra. He could only hope that his lack of eloquence and his temperament did not show through.

By the time he reached camp, night had fallen and the only light that pervade the darkness were from the flameless lanterns that the elves had hung up. Making his way to the provisions tent, Eragon had fetched himself an apple to eat. Constantly thinking and worrying had made him hunger for food. Thanking the elf who handed him the green apple, he turned the fruit in his hand a few times before taking a bite out of it, crunching it between his teeth.

Not wanting to linger underneath watchful eyes, he made his way back to his tent that the elves had once more generously offered him. As he made his way between the tents, he continued to crunch on his apple glad that he had something for his teeth to bite down on. He was unsure whether or not his continual grinding of his teeth would be beneficial. By the time he reached his tent with little incidents on the way, Eragon was surprised at the sight of a young man with chestnut hair standing near the entrance. Brom was waiting by the tent, his arms folded across his chest.

Cautious of what Brom could possibly want with him, Eragon tentatively made his way forward. If he was here to argue with him more he would take to the winds and make way for another location to sleep that night. But as it was, Brom turned at his approach and instantly chagrin filled his features.

"Is something the matter?" asked Eragon treading lightly on unknown waters.

"No," said Brom with a shake of his head. Eragon saw his fingers twitch but otherwise Brom remained still seemingly struggling with himself. It wasn't until some time had passed did Brom speak. "I want to merely apologize for my outburst earlier…it was rude and unbecoming of me."

"No matter," said Eragon not holding his anger to him. "You have a right to your anger."

"As do you," said Brom motioning to Eragon's right hand. Belatedly Eragon realized he was motion to his gedwëy ignasia. "We all deal with our grief differently and I had no right to think little of you because you decided to venture a different path than I. It just reminded me that I still have much to learn."

"You will in time no doubt," said Eragon as he took another bite of his apple. He searched for words to say. He had never been apt at speaking of his own feelings to others apart from Arya and Saphira and occasionally his mother. His relationship with his father had become better with time but it was still strange territory. What was a son supposed to say to his young father who at the time was not even his father? Eventually he settled for advice rather than personal feelings. "Whatever you do Brom, just remember that at times a cleared mind is much more useful than one clouded with anger." He tapped his temple with the forefinger of his free hand.

"I will remember your words," he paused looking like he wanted to say more but instead he said, "Well, it is late and we have to rise early to continue our travel back to Ellesméra."

Bidding Brom a peaceful rest, Eragon stood to the side as his father made to pass him but as he did so a strange urge in Eragon caused him to turn and call out to him. "Brom," the man turned to him with a questioning look. "Your dragon…she was no doubt beautiful."

An expression of deep anguish crossed his face only to be replaced a spilt second later by a sad smile. "Aye that she was."

With that said, he watched as Brom continued on his way weaving in and out between the tents until his figure disappeared from sight. Sparing another long look in the direction he left, Eragon sighed and took another bite out from his apple before he ducked inside his tent to rest. He had done enough for one day.

**There's plenty of contemplation and such in this chapter but I felt as if it was necessary for laying out the entire time travel plot. I've read a few time travel FFs and the majority (not to say all) seem to have this view of time travel as 'if we can go back and fix time for the better, it's worth a shot' type theme (not to say that it's wrong or anything). But in this story since it's a spin-off of RL, Eragon as the one who is time traveling weighs in more on his sudden burdens that comes from his decision to go back into time. I think what I'm trying to get across is that people often think of time traveling (strictly in the past) as a way to change things when it's more of a way to undo them. Anyone catch my drift? In this chapter, I just wanted to show that time traveling to Eragon is more than merely making things better. As much as it is a miracle, it is also a burden. It goes along with the concept of sacrificing one thing for another. So that's what I wanted to say here.**

**Mind blowing revelation (at least to me): I was searching through CP Q&A and all that stuff and wikia to try and construct the timeline as best as I could and long story short, I came across this one online Q&A that CP had for his readers and in it, he said that Arya and Fäolin were indeed in a romantic relationship (as in bg/gf)! I was mind blown. I've always thought their relationship was those of mere good friends and I never actually read it being confirmed that they were more until now! It was an OMG moment for me and I could barely write. I was just too fazed out at the moment. It was unbelievable. I guess that leaves more options for me in this story...**

**Anyways apart from this tremendous A/N, I hope to see you all soon!**


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**And so we have chapter 4. Once again, this story is just flowing through the beginning and after a few more chapters it'll begin to pick up pace. A history is oftentimes needed to given an effective story to the readers you know? Anyways, there's not much I want to say here so I'll just let you all read. R&R everyone!**

Even in a century the forest had not changed much thought Eragon as he stared about him as they walked deeper into the heart Du Weldenvarden. It was just as he remembered when he first visited Du Weldenvarden back in his present time. The trees were thicker and taller than those near the outskirts of the forest. Not only were they tremendous in stature, but they were spread farther apart as well to accommodate the increased span of their branches. He remembered vividly watching as Saphira easily maneuvered herself about the trees looking as if she was as at home as she was in the sky.

Back then when he was first visiting Ellesméra he was too overcome with his worry to take in the scenery as they neared the elven capital. Now, however, with a lack of something better to do he was able to fully appreciate the solemn beauty of his surroundings. The dark emerald leaves called out to him and reminded him so swiftly and painfully of eyes that held the same hue but darker. The forest truly was stagnant. It was isolated from the flow of time and had remained unchanged in the century that was to come and pass. While the rest of Alagaësia underwent the turmoil that accompanied Galbatorix's rule, Du Weldenvarden—particularly Ellesméra—would remain as they were, untouched and unchanging.

Turning his head to stare forward, Eragon watched as in the late afternoon, the gloom about them lifted to reveal an elf standing before them, sheathed in a brilliant ray of light that slanted down from the ceiling. He was garbed in flowing robes, with a circlet of silver upon his brow. His face was old, noble, and serene. Immediately, Eragon felt himself tense as he found himself placed under the scrutiny of Gilderien the Wise. Would the elf allow him passage into Ellesméra or would he turn him away? He waited watching as the elf's eyes flickered to his right hand before they returned to King Evandar who stood at the head of the procession.

A moment passed and then the path was clear as Gilderien the Wise closed his eyes and spread his arms in a gesture of welcome. Glad that he was not denied entrance into Ellesméra, Eragon followed behind the other elves as they trailed closely behind Evandar. As he walked, he caught sight of Brom in the crowd but did not call out to him. A part of him did not know what else to do when it pertained to his father. Instead, he merely resigned himself to observing Brom at a distance.

They parted about the elf—the guardian of Ellesméra—like water parting at the base of a weathered boulder and when the last of their company had passed, he straightened and as Eragon remembered, clasped his hands and vanished as the light that illuminated him ceased to exist. It gave him a strange comfort though, seeing Gilderien the Wise once more and knowing that even a hundred years from now the elf would reappear to guard the entrance to Ellesméra. There was at least one constant in time.

As they continued deeper, he began to pick out the tell-tale signs of their nearing to Ellesméra. With his keen eyes, he could easily pick out the soft paths in the grass laid with all types of flowers from bluebells to lilies. A quarter mile in was when the world shifted about him and once again rather than standing amidst large pine trees, he was standing in between tall houses built directly from the wood of the pine trees.

Slowly, one by one those who remained behind during the fighting appeared and Eragon watched as mates, family, and friends were reunited. Watching them formed the dull ache in his chest that he was trying to acquaint himself with—to familiarize himself with—so that it hurt less each time it swept over him. It was foolish of him to try though for he knew that no matter how much time passed, the pain of his decision would still pierce him as quickly and as harshly as it did the first time. It would be the burden he would carry until his death and even then perhaps beyond death. Turning his eyes forward, he froze on the spot as he spotted King Evandar before the company separated from the other elves. There was a tender expression on the king's face, his stern features giving way.

And the recipient of such a look was striding towards him, though she did not wear the diamond diadem as she did in his time, Islanzadí Dröttning—no, she was Islanzadí Dröttningu for she was queen no longer—appeared as she did in his own time. Like the other elven maidens, she possessed the ethereal beauty of her race but she like her mate stood apart from the others. Proud and imperious just as he knew her to be but there was a difference to this Islanzadí. There was a tenderness to her and Eragon watched she glided forward dressed in a beautiful attire of dark emerald to King Evandar.

When she reached him, her hands came forward and she took him by the arms. He saw her lips move but did not hear what it was that she said for all about Eragon, the other elves were conversing with their reunited and they were all too busy to give any attention to their king. Or perhaps they were giving their monarch a moment of privacy as he was returned to his family. When both of their foreheads touched, Eragon diverted his eyes believing that he had seen enough. It would not do well to keep staring at the two of them. It would only serve to remind him that he knew of another princess, one that was beloved of him.

Though he did not understand Islanzadí, Eragon did know that she was no doubt a loving person. Elves he learned and understood did not practice in matrimony. They only persisted in relationships as long as their feelings lasted and since they were immortal, very few relationships lasted for as long as their lives played out. That was why when elves born children, it was the epitome of their feelings for each other. It was a promise that they would never part and their child was proof of that promise. Arya was born from Evandar and Islanzadí and as much as he did not agree with Queen Islanzadí's thoughts and processes at times he was always grateful to her for bringing Arya into the world even if it was not for him but rather as a result of her love for her mate. Arya, despite all the ironies of the world, was the proof that within Islanzadí was a person who loved just as fiercely and as passionately as the next.

Like he had been doing since he had awoken a century before his time, he could not help but compare the Islanzadí before him with the one in his memories. On occasion, he had only seen Islanzadí portray any sort of emotion when Arya was involved. And even then it seemed bittersweet and filled with longing as mother and daughter sought to move past their estranged relationship. The Islanzadí before him, however, was much different thought Eragon as he turned his eyes to the king and princess once more watching as Evandar pressed his lips to Islanzadí's temple and how her eyes closed at the gesture. She did not lose her mate in the Battle for Iliera. She would not become Islanzadí Dröttning, the ruler of the forest.

He had changed her as well and for a moment he did not want this Islanzadí. He wanted the imposing and regal queen that was reluctant to trust him with her daughter's happiness. He wanted the queen that knew him and his past and was hard pressed to place her faith in him. Though Islanzadí had originally opposed his union with Arya, he would not mind to see her once more for the Islanzadí in his time was proof, proof that he and Arya were mates despite her initial opposition. And now with her gone, it only served to reinforce the fact that his future was already beginning to tear at the seams.

"That is King Evandar's mate," he turned to find Brom beside him, his blue eyes focused on the pair a few yards away. "Islanzadí Dröttningu is the mother of King Evandar's child."

At the mention of Arya, Eragon felt himself tense and hoped that Brom did not notice. Instead he cleared his throat slightly turning his head to face Brom. "Have you met their child before?" asked Eragon trying not to sound too eager to know more about the Arya in this time.

Brom shook his head, "She was born a year before Galbatorix betrayed us," said Brom his expression hard. "I had heard that the celebrations were tremendous—that the entire forest had celebrated for an entire week in honor of her birth. She is still but a young child and do in part to her age, I believe King Evandar does not wish that she participate in the workings of the world as of yet."

"Yes, of course," muttered Eragon accepting Brom's words with little hesitation. He, himself, had thought as much. The two of them waited unsure of what to do amongst the elves before at long last King Evandar turned away from Islanzadí but he did not step away from his close proximity to the elven princess. Instead, he lifted his hand to be acknowledged and one by one the elves quieted, their earlier joy at being reunited with their loved ones diminishing to be replaced by sorrow.

He surveyed them with his piercing gray eyes before he spoke, his voice clear and echoing in his rich vibrato. "As much as it pains me to speak, I have no choice but to inform you all of the events that have occurred in Alagaësia…Galbatorix has won and despite all of our strength and magic, we were unable to defeat him and his Forsworn." At this, several elves seemed to bow their heads in shame as if unable to face the harsh truth that they were bested by a traitor. Beside him, he saw a gleam enter Brom's blue eyes. Evandar paused for a moment and then he continued. "That does not mean that will we surrender to him. However, I must ask of you all to keep within Du Weldenvarden and away from the outskirts of the forest. The times that are upon us are dark indeed and while we have managed to evade Galbatorix and his treachery temporarily we must always remain vigilante. There will be a time when our hopes shall be answered and for that time to come, we must wait. And wait we shall, patiently and ever watching and knowing of our enemy's movements and when the opportunity comes to us we shall strike and show Galbatorix that we are not a race to be trifled with."

There was a low murmur of voices to his words as the elves all spoke as one, their voices merging to create a melody that was akin to that of a river flowing softly. When they abated, King Evandar continued keeping his eyes about the elves that were gathered before him. "We have fought and despite our loss, we have fought well now it is time to wait. Like all battles—like all great wars—there is a time in which we have no choice but to wait—wait and bid our time."

He spoke more but Eragon did not pay attention to him, instead he found his eyes darting to Queen Islanzadí but she paid no heed to him, her eyes were focused solely on Evandar as he spoke and when he dismissed the elves to return to their lives before they had marched to battle with him, Eragon blinked unsure of where it was that he was meant to go. All about him, the elves began to disperse disappearing down different paths and into their homes. Eventually it was only Brom, Eragon, Evandar, and Islanzadí whom remained.

"Let us go," said Brom as he gestured to the king and his mate. Unsure of what to do, Eragon nodded and made his way to King Evandar. When they stopped before the king and princess, Brom turned to Islanzadí and greeted her as was demanded of him in the elven tradition. When he was finished, Eragon moved to do so as well fully knowing that Islanzadí had trained a sharp eye on him. When she straightened she was not looking at him with any sort of hostility but merely curiosity.

"And who might you be Shur'tugal?" she asked politely her eyes flickering to this right palm.

"Eragon, my lady," he answered her unsure of how else to address Islanzadí. He had never heard of Arya being called anything apart from her name and sometimes her title and could only hope that he could pass this off as a mere practice of manners in the human world. Islanzadí did not find anything strange of his response but merely inclined her head studying him with a startled look.

"He is the Rider who saved my life," said Evandar to Islanzadí. "As repayment of his deed, he will be staying as a guest of our house."

And to his surprise Islanzadí's emerald eyes turned to him and they shone with her gratitude. "Thank you for your service to our people and my family Eragon," her eyes darted to Evandar and they shared a look before they returned to Eragon. "I can only hope that your stay here in Ellesméra would be repayment enough for a deed that will forever be remembered by our people as well as myself."

"It is," said Eragon humbled.

"Let us go to the Tialdarí Hall," said Evandar motioning for Brom and Eragon to follow him. He took the lead with Islanzadí by his side and the two began to lead Brom and Eragon. As they followed, Evandar explained to them more about his family hall. "Tialdarí Hall is our family's ancestral buildings in the western part of Ellesméra." Eragon nodded. He remembered Arya telling him as much and he had been to the compound that was her family hall before. That was when he was once more struck with the thought that he was going to be living in close proximity to Arya. Was this fate in the workings? Whatever it was it was cruel for he knew that the Arya he would meet would not be his. She was but a child and even with time, she would grow to be a different Arya. Her past was going to be different and he was half afraid to even think of her personality.

The thought was erased from his mind when they stopped before a ribbed lancet arch—grown between two trees—which served as the entrance for a wide compound. It was Islanzadí who spoke rather than Evandar. In the ancient language, she chanted in her rich voice, "Root of tree, fruit of vine, let me pass by this blood of mine."

The two archway doors trembled and then swung outward, releasing five monarch butterflies that fluttered toward the dusky sky. Through the archway lay a vast flower garden that looked as pristine and natural as a wild meadow. The one element that betrayed artifice was the sheer variety of plants; many of the species were blooming out of season, or came from hotter or colder climates and would never have flourished without the elves' magic. Like when he was with Arya touring her hall, the scene was lit with the gemlike flameless lanterns, augmented by constellations of swirling fireflies.

The two of them followed Evandar and Islanzadí deeper into Tialdarí Hall, crossing the gardens as the four of them made their way to the scattered trees that soon thickened into a wall. The hall was warm and there was a sense of home and comfort to it but it still felt out of place to Eragon who was used to residing in Vrael's tree. He had lost that right in this time seeing as he was no longer a Rider. The shape of the hall was determined by the tree trunks, which on the inside of the hall had been stripped of their bark, polished, and rubbed with oil until the wood gleamed like amber. Regular gaps between the trunks acted as windows. It was not sight of the hall that moved him deeply but rather the scent of crushed pine needles that perfumed the air. Every time he breathed in the scent, it reminded him so much of Arya that he felt a sharp pang to his heart.

They were led through the hall until Evandar came to stop before a screen door. He motioned to it, turning to face Eragon. "This will be your quarters for as long as you shall stay within our hall, Eragon. From now on you shall be our guest and as such you are entitled to the hospitality that our house provides. If you ever find yourself in need of something do not hesitant to ask."

Eragon bowed to him. "You are too kind, Your Majesty," he murmured before straightening. Evandar merely nodded to him and after a few more exchanges, Eragon bid them farewell for the day before he left their company venturing into his new quarters closing the screen door behind him. It was like Arya's but it was not as spacious. The living room was still rather comfortable and there was a study to his left and a small bedroom to his right and connected to his bedroom was a door that led to the washroom. Glad for the time to himself, he unstrapped Vrangr from his back and slid Brisingr from its place on his left hip and placed both of his swords on the bed as he went to remove his armor. It had been a burden to travel while wearing the dented armor and he was only too glad to have it removed.

Tugging the final parts of his armor off, he stared at the silver attire that had been gifted to him before reaching out to take the beautiful helm in his hands. Arya had the helm forged for him to replace his horned one. It was another gift of hers to him. Running his hand over the gold lining and the elegant carvings in the helm, he paused staring at the helm before his eyes wandered to Vrangr which laid on his bed. Setting the helm down, he reached for his sword to pick up and study. Then with a flourish of his hand drew the blade from its sheath to admire it.

Arya had forged the blade of Vrangr for him giving the sword more meaning then it could ever have. While Brisingr represented the bond between he and Saphira, Vrangr represented his life, his conflict with Asura, and Arya's devotion to him. He turned the blade about in his hand. Vrangr began to pulse with life thirsting for the blood that it so desired. It was a beautiful sword thought Eragon as he reached forward to glide a single finger down the iridescent blade. But it was not made to be a sword that was meant to kill mercilessly. It was forged so that he could use it to protect while Brisingr was used to destroy. They were both two halves of one whole. He had made a promise to Queen Islanzadí in which he would use Vrangr not for himself but for Arya and in this time that promise still held weight in his heart.

Sheathing Vrangr, he returned the sword to the bed and made his way to the bathroom to wash up. Days of traveling made him rather filthy and he did not like the feeling. The fact that he was also now staying with the elves made him more self-aware of his need to stay clean. The wash was refreshing to say at least. It gave him a moment to clear his mind and think back on the past days. No one questioned him nor his origins. He had the king's trust and with it theirs. Everyone else seemed unbothered by his presence. He had given Evandar his oath to not bring harm to the elves and trouble their lifestyle and had therefore ensured a safe haven for himself.

Amongst the few days he'd spent with the elves and Brom, he had tried to glean as much information as he could about the current situation. As he had remembered through his readings and through his lessons with Oromis, Galbatorix had managed to seize control of the western half of Alagaësia proclaiming the territory as now part of his Empire. His twelve remaining Forsworn had went from city to city to establish his reign. Iliera was renamed Urû'baen and in the confusion of it all, the new country of Surda was established by Orrin's ancestor, Lady Marelda. Soon, Brom was going to take advantage of the confusion and within a few years the Varden would be formed. As overwhelming as it was, Eragon was still slightly amazed that he was now part of history and he was witnessing it as well. Not only that but he _knew _of what was to come. It was burdening and yet empowering at the same time.

Once he was done with his bath, he exited the washroom to find a new pair of clothing waiting for him on his bedside table. On it was a note that told him that the clothes were for him to wear and it was a sign of hospitality. Thankful for the new clothing, he pulled on his tunic, letting the soft fabric caress his skin, and stepped into his breeches. Packing away his armor and dirty clothes into the corner, unsure of what to do with them, he went to sit on his bed transferring both of his blades to the ground. He was at a loss of what else to do at the moment. There was no need for him to do anything apart from wait and bid his time. A minute had barely passed and already he was starting to feel restless.

Then another minute passed as he drummed his finger on his right hand along his knee. And another minute passed and when he felt like he was going to go stir crazy, he stood and shoved his feet into the new boots that were provided for him also courtesy of Evandar's house. Strapping Brisingr to his waist, he decided to leave Vrangr within his room and made his way towards the exit. He would wander about Ellesméra and perhaps even visit the library so that he could read and study more on magic. Though he was strong and apt, it did not necessarily mean that he was a master of spells and such. He could use the time he spent in Ellesméra to practice and hone his strength.

With that thought in mind, he began to trace his way through the compound tempted to search out Arya's chambers. He knew where they were located but did not wish to risk it. It was not even her chambers yet doubted Eragon. Arya was still very young and was no doubt still living within her parents' quarters before she was old enough to be given her own. As he walked through the gardens, his eyes wandered from patch to patch searching for the patch of Black Morning Glories. His search was in vain though for not a patch of flowers existed and for a moment, Eragon felt relieved beyond imagination. What he did see, however, was a patch of white roses.

He paused for a moment staring at the roses, their meaning coming to him. While the Black Morning Glories represented Arya's relationship with Fäolin , a white rose represented his relationship with Arya. It was childish to compare the two of them but he could not help but do so as he stared at the roses. While Arya and Fäolin were close over the twenty years they had spent together, it was Eragon that she had given her heart and soul to and it was with that thought that he felt a sense of calm wash over him. He always had that fact to keep close to heart. With one final look at the white roses, he turned and left the gardens and instead exited Tialdarí Hall.

There was not much to do when he had no interest or hobby and when he had no one to spend his time with. Letting his feet carry him to any sort of destination that he could find, Eragon let himself wander through the forest. Ellesméra was much quieter than when he had come to visit for his training in his time. The elves were all withdrawn, resting after the Battle for Iliera and no doubt lamenting over what was loss. He did not know the Order nor any of the Riders but he could tell that the elves did and that they were wounded beyond all else at the great loss of such an age. A once peaceful and prosperous time was gone only to be replaced by a dark coming.

So much was loss and even though the events occurring were tragic and grievous, he could not help but feel detached from it all. He knew this was going to happen. He knew that the Order would no longer exist after the Fall so there was no need for him to mourn for something that was already lost to him. It would be pointless to do so. A part of him felt guilty that he was not affected by the events. It was saddening to see such things but the sadness was not his to bear for this time was not his. How ironic and yet how ignorant of him thought Eragon as he walked deeper into the eleven capital barely paying any heed to the thickness in trees as he wandered.

It wasn't until he was standing at the base of the Menoa Tree did he come to himself. He stared at the lone pine tree that stood in the middle of the clearing. No taller than the rest of its brethren, it was thicker than a hundred regular trees combined; in comparison, they looked as puny as windblown saplings. A blanket of roots radiated from the tree's massive trunk, covering the ground with bark-sheathed veins that made it seem as if the entire forest flowed out form the tree, as if it were the heart of Du Weldenvarden itself. The Menoa tree presided over the words like a benevolent matriarch, protecting its inhabitants under the shelter of her branches.

He stared up at the tree for a long moment drinking in its image. Like Gilderien the Wise, the Menoa tree was unchanged and unmarked by the passage of time. It was still the matriarch of the forest but there was one thing that he was curious about. Carefully making his way towards the tree and about its roots, he neared the spot he remembered standing on when he stood before the Menoa tree to request the brightsteel ore. Reaching out with his fingers, he pressed his hand against the ground trying to see if he could determine if the ore was still underneath her roots. But it was impossible. Unlike living things, he could not detect any difference in the ground except for the slight change in soil structure. Frowning, Eragon stood at a loss of what to do.

He wanted to do something. He wanted to help and fight. He wanted to find out how Alagaësia had managed to transport him a hundred years back in time with his knowledge, physical body, and swords. He wanted to see Arya. Once more Eragon bit his lips as he could only peg his thoughts for being greedy yet again. He was given this second chance and he only seemed to want for more. He was going to have to relinquish that train of thought. With a heavy heart, he made his way to the base of the Menoa tree and sat down on the crest of a huge root, twelve feet off the ground. He glanced at the tree. "What should I do Linnëa?"

The moment the words left his lips he cringed. Had he become so lonely that he had to resort to speak with the Menoa tree? And even if she _did _reply to him, it did not erase his past grudge against Linnëa for burying him alive even if she did give him the brightsteel eventually. Could she possibly understand how he felt? He thought about her for a moment and her story. She had killed her lover and had sung herself into the Menoa tree. One some level he could empathize with her but he highly doubted that he would do more than turn to grief if he were to ever see Arya with…

Eragon shook his head. He did not want to think of such morbid thoughts. Instead, he merely sat there trying to think of what to do with his life now. He could not simply just sit there and brood over his thoughts. Perhaps he could find a hobby or an art of interest to devote himself to like the elves did and maybe begin to read the many scrolls and texts within the library of Ellesméra. Just thinking of such a life made him restless. It sounded too lonely and purposeless. But that was all he was now, a Rider without a dragon, a person without a purpose.

It wasn't until late night that he returned to Tialdarí Hall and when he passed the patches of white roses to do so, he could not help but take in the beautiful flowers once more. Then unable to help himself, he gently removed the most beautiful flower from the flowerbed and took it with him to his chambers. When he was within his bedroom, he turned to the flower murmuring a spell underneath his breath. A minute passed and within his hand was a glass orb and embedded in it was the white rose, preserved in its blossom.

Now it would not die and though they were divided by time and death, he knew that in that moment his feelings for Arya would not wither away. He would preserve it just like the white rose within his hands. Time was now a new player in the game of fate but he refused to let its claws sink too deeply into his life.

**There's one thing that I wanted to address in this A/N. I know plenty of you have been against the idea of Fäolin and Arya together even if it is for some short span of time but...there's a history to them that CP never fully explored and its too tempting of a chance to pass up. But we shall see what the future has in store for them. But have no fear, Eragon and Arya are definitely meant to be especially in this story! Also, I wanted to thank all the reviewers and their wonderful feedback! It just makes me more motivated to see this story through! I hope to see you all soon once more! Oh and Arya next chapter perhaps?**


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Well let's all consider this chapter a treat! I decided to post another chapter today since you all seem to be anxious in your waiting! Also, I know plenty of your are concerned about the story but have I ever failed to deliver a wonderful plot line? (I hope I haven't). So just follow this story through and if you still have concerns just review and I shall always answer as fast as I can. Apart from that, R&R!**

Time passed by slowly during his stay in Ellesméra. Day in and day out, he found himself wandering the elven capital trying to find something that could capture his time. He had pondered visiting Oromis and Glaedr but did not want to risk his situation as of yet. Rather, Eragon planned to live out a few years with the elves before he even dare to approach the Crags of Tel'naeír. He did not want Oromis or Glaedr to find out who he was, not yet at least. The information of his time travel was still too fresh and he could not instantly seek to change history for the more he did the more he was sure that it would deviate from its original course too much for comfort.

On his second week in the elven capital, Eragon had found himself restless beyond all else. He did not see Brom often during his stay in Ellesméra and though he wanted to seek his young father out to speak with him to lessen the stark feeling of loneliness, Eragon was too prideful to ask and Brom was otherwise engaged. It seemed as if his father was making preparations to travel to Surda to incite a rebellion against the Empire. He would leave soon and create the Varden. He was going to dedicate his life to bringing about the fall of the Forsworn. And while he was pursuing his greatest passion, which was the death of Morzan, Eragon was going to spend his days doing nothing.

While he was wandering about Ellesméra in the past two weeks since he'd arrived, a small part of him had hoped that he would be able to glean sight of Arya. When he had met Arya, she was already cemented into who she was. She was wise, noble, and powerful just as Angela's fortune had described her. She was devoted to her people and family, devoted to the greater good of Alagaësia. Eridor had chosen her as his Rider, Murtagh had helped her fight a Shade and she became a Shadeslayer. The Arya he knew was Arya Dröttningu, Rider of Eridor and Shadeslayer. He had never gotten a chance to meet a younger Arya who was carefree, who could laugh and sing without the feeling of impending doom weighing down on her. And yet, he was fearful of doing so for it would only serve to reinforce that she was different from how he remembered her and he did not want to feel as if his memories with Arya—_his _Arya—were a farce. Keeping that thought close in mind, Eragon decided then that he would not seek her out despite how close they lived together at the moment. He would wait and see if she was going to appear to him and if she did, he was going to have to try his best to deal with the situation as deemed of him. Would he be shocked? Saddened? Or relieved that even if they were different, that Arya was still alive and well? That she was happy?

He shook the thoughts from his head. As much as he wanted to spend his time thinking of Arya, he could not waste away on his emotions. He knew that it would only serve to upset her if she had found out how he was spending his time. Feeling rather guilty to her, Eragon straightened as he continued through the tunnel of dogwood which was draped with creepers. Today would be the last of his wanderings. When he woke a day ago he had come to a conclusion that he would find a hobby to preoccupy himself with and perhaps even find it in himself to even enjoy.

Eventually the tunnel ended at an enclosed atrium of a house grown out of a ring of trees. An open walled hut occupied the center of the atrium, which sheltered a forge and an assortment of tools that all defined the trade of a blacksmith. His eyes turned to the elf woman that stood near the bellows. Rhunön held a pair of small tongs in a nest of molten coals, working bellows with her right hand. With uncanny speed, she pulled the tongs from the fire—revealing a ring of white-hot steel clamped in the pincers' jaws—looped the ring through the edge of an incomplete mail corselet hung over the anvil, gasped a hammer, and welded shut the open ends of the ring with a blow and a burst of sparks.

Had she been working on a corselet when he first visited her as well?

Very careful not to touch any of her works, Eragon inched forward to speak to her. He touched his two lips in a sign of respect. "Atra esterní ono thelduin, Rhunön-elda."

She turned to face him, her neck and cheek lit from underneath by the coals' bloody light. Like taut wires embedded in her skin, her face was scribed with a delicate pattern of lines. But her inspection of Eragon only lasted for a few seconds before her eyes flickered to Brisingr and Vrangr, widening in surprise. He saw a flash of emotion in her eyes and he could tell that she was trying to remember if she had forged the swords that he carried. He knew that she could recognize her work but she had no memory of forging such blades. Eventually, she turned her eyes back to Eragon with a frown, her brows slanted as she lowered the tongs in her hand to the anvil. Then she banked the coals and covered them with a grated lid.

"Who are you?" asked Rhunön, her voice guttering and raspy unlike any other elf's. Eragon had to resist the urge to smile; Rhunön was another constant in time. Like always she was as brusque as ever and he was glad to see her. He remembered the first time he'd met her and how she thought Arya to be dead having not left her home for three years. Time meant nothing to her, only her work did.

"My name is Eragon," he answered her question watching as the crease in her brows deepened. Rhunön was not as simple minded as one would take the elf smith for. Though she was wholly devoted to her work, he knew that she understood the workings of the world well enough. He could tell that she was wondering if another smith had managed to ply the secrets of her craft to their own forge. Eragon knew, for he had forged the blade of Brisingr with her help, how to forge a Rider's blade albeit with more magic than what Rhunön would use. "I came to seek out the blacksmith that is well known in all of Du Weldenvarden."

"And what need of me do you have to come and seek me out?" she asked, her eyes focused intently on Eragon but he could tell that she was very curious about Vrangr and Brisingr. It would be hard to continue the conversation knowing that Rhunön was preoccupied with his swords. And so as repayment to her for her help a century to come, he unstrapped Vrangr from his back and slid Brisingr from his waist placing both swords before her on her anvil.

She said nothing as she reached out to take Brisingr in her hands with a look of wonder on her face. She caressed the dark azure sheath, lingered on the black symbol etched into it, and glided her hand over the dark wooden hilt of the sword. He could tell that she was comparing the blade to her previous works trying to understand how it was that he possessed two Rider's swords. Then Rhunön wrapped her fingers around the handle and drew the sword with all the authority of a warrior. Eragon watched not in the least bit alarmed as she began to test his blade. He could see a sense of awe in Rhunön's expression as she stared down the fine edges of his sword, taking in the webs of pale veins that ran throughout the blade causing it to shimmer in the slightest light. After bending the blade until the sides touched flattened against each other, Rhunön swung Brisingr over her head and brought it down upon the tongs on her anvil, slicing them in half as a pure note echoed through the atrium fading into silence a second later.

Her eyes darted to him as she held Brisingr in her hands, questioning but not asking directly with her voice. Knowing what it was that she was asking of him, Eragon spoke, "Brisingr is its name," instantly, his sword flared to life with a rush of wind as it erupted into sapphire flames. Immediately, he was reminded of Saphira and was a second belated in letting out the flames.

Rhunön stared at him with a scowl. "What was the purpose of setting flames to your sword?"

"I did not mean to intentionally," said Eragon and Rhunön was forced to acknowledge that he did not for he spoke in the ancient language. "Whenever I speak the name of my swords, they react. I apologize if I insulted or offended you in any way Rhunön-elda."

Her scowl faded away to leave behind a thoughtful and interested expression as she took in the iridescent blade before her. Then with a loud voice, she exclaimed, "Brisingr!" his sword hummed silently but did not respond to her. If anything her interest in Brisingr seemed to heighten as she flourished the sword in her hand. "Where did you come across such a sword?"

"I forged it myself," said Eragon surprising her once more. She stared at him in shock and he was not the least bit insulted with her incredulous and disbelieving expression. He was young by their standards and the level of mastery it required to forge a blade such as Brisingr was more than his skills could offer. He could tell that she was trying to see if he was speaking falsely but once more the ancient language had allowed him to utter those words. _I forged the blade of Brisingr with your help, _Eragon amended in his mind as he watched Rhunön set Brisingr down on her anvil beside its scabbard taking in the elvish glyph for fire on both of them.

Her attention then turned to Vrangr which was the exact copy of Brisingr apart from the elvish glyph on it that represented _wandering_ and not _fire_. With the same reverence as she displayed when handling Brisingr, she slid Vrangr from it sheath admiring the deadly gleam the blue blade emitted. There was a difference to Brisingr and Vrangr. While Brisingr appeared to glow with light, Vrangr pulsed with darkness. "And what is the name of this blade?"

"Vrangr."

Unlike Brisingr, Vrangr did not ignite into flames but rather the blade glowed with a violet edge as if pulsing with life. Reaching forward for one half of the tongs that Rhunön had cut cleanly in half, Eragon lifted the metal to the violet edge. The moment it made contact with Vrangr, the metal of the tongs began to metal away—eaten away into nothingness. Eventually when only a small part of the half remained, Eragon lowered his hand tossing the useless metal onto the anvil as Rhunön continued to stare at Vrangr, entranced.

"Your blade…it is as if it is almost _alive,_" Rhunön commented. Eragon nodded and with the other half of the tongs pierce his skin until he drew blood. Then he held his hand over Vrangr watching as his crimson blood fell onto the sapphire blade. The drops of blood remained on the surface of the iridescent blade for a few seconds before Vrangr glowed once more and both he and Rhunön watched as Vrangr absorbed the blood, the violet edge growing brighter as a tremor coursed through the sword. Pulling his hand away, he watched as a green mist came to existence wrapping around the wound that he gave himself before healing it. Her magic was still able to heal his smaller wounds but not his larger ones thought Eragon as he stared at his hand in relief. He had the urge to slice his hand open once more to just feel Arya's magic heal him but did not. Instead, he turned his head back to Rhunön as she picked up Brisingr to hold beside Vrangr.

The swords began to resonate the closer Rhunön brought them together. He could tell that she was astounded by the tremors that ran through her arms as Vrangr and Brisingr shook in her hands. "They are bonded pairs," Eragon explained and if anything Rhunön's astonishment seemed to grow as she stared at the swords in her hands. "They will not yield to another master apart from me." _And Arya _thought Eragon but he dared not say so aloud.

She lowered Brisingr to the anvil and focused her eyes on Vrangr, deeply curious about the blade and its apparent demonic qualities. If she thought too much into it, she would no doubt be able to compare Vrangr's thirst for blood as a similar quality in a shade or a vengeful spirit. "And did you forge this blade as well?" asked Rhunön her eyes darting to him.

Eragon shook his head. "No, it was forged as a gift for me."

"A gift? And may I ask who forged it for you?"

He paused pressing his lips together as he thought about her question. Then he sighed inwardly to himself. "Someone important to me," said Eragon eventually. Rhunön must have sensed his reluctance to answer her question and to his relief she did not push him for more answers instead she stared at both of his swords.

"Du Brisingr Vrangr," she murmured to herself. _The Wandering Fire. _Her eyes flickered to him before she sheathed Vrangr and then in turn Brisingr, staring at both blades in wonder still. "You have beautiful blades Shur'tugal."

"I am a Shur'tugal no more," said Eragon as she frowned, understanding the meaning behind his words. Saphira was no longer his in this time and therefore he had no right to be called a Rider anymore. Seeing his silent grief, Rhunön did not speak but he saw a flash of understanding in her eyes and he knew that the elf smith empathized with him on some level. She had no doubt taken up the oath in which she refused to forge another weapon, giving up her life's work in the face of the tragedy her blades wrought under the hands of Galbatorix and his Forsworn. They had lost purpose in their lives and were trying their best to find a way to work about the years to come. While Rhunön still had many other choices in which to work her craft, Eragon was at a mere loss.

He reached forward and slid Brisingr into the belt at his waist, resting his sword on his left hip while he strapped Vrangr to his back. "I heard tale that you were the smith whom had forged all the Riders their blades."

She looked pained and he knew that the pain of Galbatorix's betrayal and the loss of all her life's work ate at her. Eventually she nodded and as fast as her sorrow came it was replaced with a biting anger. "My entire life I spent hammering swords such as yours out of ore. Then _he _came and he destroyed them. Centuries of effort obliterated in an instant. I do not know if any of my art exists save for his sword and his servants'."

"They do," said Eragon watching as she paused and he debated whether or not he should tell her that Galbatorix had horded all of her swords as trophies to amuse himself with. They were not used but rather only looked upon as a reminder of the many Riders whom he had bested. Seeing the glimmer in Rhunön's aged eyes, he made his decision. "Galbatorix has taken them for his own enjoyment but I can promise you Rhunön-elda, that your work—hundreds of them—have not been lost in the tide of battle."

If she was touched by his words she did not show it. Instead, she stared at him and he could see the slight change in her expression. She appeared to be renewed in spirit to know that her life's work had not been lost and Eragon in that one instance was glad that he could give Rhunön some sort of comfort. Rhunön, he realized as he stood in her forge before her, was rather lonely. She had no family and seemed not bothered by her lack of friends. But he was positive that even when she was devoting herself to her work that she felt lonely. Was this going to be his fate in Ellesméra? Would he be alone as he tried to find some sort of craft to devote himself to?

After a long moment, Eragon shook his head with a frown. He was not going to think like that yet again. He needed to pull himself together. Eventually, she too gathered her composure as she turned to him her eyes once more flickering to his swords before they returned to rest on his face, her usual scowl on her face. "Now if you have no more to say, I shall need to return to my work," she said quite rudely, turning away from him.

He fought a smile. Never before did he enjoy Rhunön's eccentricities more than he did now. After spending some company with other elves who were all so very polite and refined, he was refreshed by Rhunön's brusque and outright attitude and could only wonder that perhaps Arya saw the same novelty in the smith. There was a sense of comfort to know that Rhunön would not merely say something to say it and that she was always very forward and forthright with her thoughts.

"I came to you seeking a request," said Eragon causing her to turn back to him with a frown.

"If you came to me to ask that I use my skills in the forge for you than you are sorely mistaken," she said.

Eragon shook his head. Not backing down nor averting his eyes, he said in a determined voice, "I wish to learn under you, Rhunön-elda."

Her surprise at his words seemed to render her incapable of speaking for a few seconds before she rotated on the spot to face him once more. "I am afraid I can do little to teach you anymore than you know now. If you are capable of forging such a blade as Brisingr, there is not much else for you to learn. And even if I could teach you anymore, I will not want to. Apprenticeships are not of my liking."

"I had help when I forged Brisingr," said Eragon as he refused to budge from his spot.

"Even so I am afraid that I cannot," said Rhunön.

"May I ask your reason for not doing so?" asked Eragon stubbornly. He could tell that his motivation to learn underneath Rhunön surprised her. She had probably expected that the moment she turned him away, he would lose his will to ask her and would go seek out another smith within Ellesméra or Du Weldenvarden for the matter. But Eragon was going to show her just how stubborn he was and though Rhunön tried not to show it, he knew the aged elf had a kindness to her despite her overly outlandish attitude.

"I do not take apprentices," said Rhunön with a hard expression as if willing for Eragon to leave. "It will do you well to seek out another who can teach you the craft."

"I only wish to learn from the best," said Eragon as he kept his eyes focused on hers noticing how deep her dark irises were. They spoke of her years alive. If he remembered correctly, Oromis had once told him that Rhunön was older than the order of the Riders, that she had come before the pact with the dragons were made. In that instance as he stared into her eyes, he understood just how aged she was. "And you are the best smith there is in all of Du Weldenvarden."

"As pleasing as it is to hear your words," said Rhunön not the least bit moved even though Eragon did not mean to flatter her. He was only stating a fact that was acknowledged by every elf in the forest. "I shall not teach you."

"Then you must give me a better reason apart from not taking apprenticeships to persuade me to leave," said Eragon as her scowl deepened.

"Have you not heard me before?"

"I have," said Eragon as he went to walk about her forge studying her tools, making himself comfortable. He was going to be spending time with Rhunön after all. Though she refused to take him as an apprentice, he would not back down. He had managed to get her to forge a sword for him with Oromis's help despite her oath and now he was going to manage to ask her to take him as an apprentice. He was not like every other elf that might have gone to her seeking her out. She would not feel hindered by his presence of that he was sure.

"Then why do you insist on learning under me?" asked Rhunön, her mouth twisted not in distaste or displeasure, but rather in bemusement as if she could not make Eragon out. "I find it hard to believe that a Dragon Rider would be content to merely finding his way about a forge for his days to come."

"One is not a Rider without a dragon," said Eragon softly watching as Rhunön's expression came close to what appeared to be contrite. "I will not hinder your work Rhunön-elda but I wish to learn in your forge."

She stared at him for a long moment and he could see her contemplating his request. A minute passed and then she lifted her chin to observe him. "I can teach you but you need to be determined to learn. Those who do not want to learn will not be able to master the forge. But let me ask you this, what purpose will this serve you? This is my life's work, one that I do not relinquish easily for other matters. And if I were to take an apprentice, I will not do so without ascertaining for myself their views of my craft."

Eragon folded his arms over his chest as he pondered her question. He had a feeling that Rhunön would ask of him such a question. Had he not known her beforehand, he would have floundered on the spot. And his hesitancy would have given her the perfect excuse to turn him away without a second thought. Instead, he found his thought process and began to speak. "It is not so much how I view the forge but rather how I view my life in terms of your craft, Rhunön-elda. I want to recreate the margins of my reality. I want to break away what exists and recreate it into something better, something more fitting. I believe, that if it is anyone, you can teach me."

Rhunön did not speak as she listened to him and when he was done; her eyes flickered away from him and towards her anvil where the other half of her tongs remained. Then after a long moment of contemplation, she reached forward and gripped the metal in her hand before holding it out for him to take.

Eragon took the piece of metal somewhat confused as to the purpose behind her giving him the broken equipment. "Am I supposed to do something with it?"

"I want you to make me a new pair," said Rhunön seriously.

"Pardon?" asked Eragon in surprise at her request. She wanted him to make one for her in this moment? She scowled heavily at him as if irritated with his slow response to her request.

"If you wish to learn underneath me, I shall have to see your skills," said Rhunön. "Your first task, which I believe shall be simple enough for you, will be to make me a new pair of tongs. Can you do that, Eragon? Or shall you admit that you are not fit to learn as my apprentice?"

His expression tightening, Eragon merely narrowed his eyes at her accepting her challenge. She was asking for a pair of tongs and he was confident he could make it easily enough. Removing his swords and setting them against the wall of her forge, Eragon began to maneuver about the forge remembering where she placed all of her tools and whatnot. This should be easy enough.

"I do not want to see you use magic," said Rhunön with serious eyes as she observed him. "In order to master one's craft, one must always put forth effort of their own and not use a few words to satisfy their desires."

"Of course Rhunön-elda," murmured Eragon.

"And as my apprentice," said Rhunön in her raspy voice, "You shall refer to me as Master since in comparison to your skills that is what I am." Eragon nodded. It was the same when it came to guilds; the lower rank always had to use the title master with their higher authority. Despite his pride, he did not wish to cause her to change her mind. She gestured to her open walled forge. "Now what are you waiting for? Forge me a new pair of tongs and do so quick!"

_This will be simple work, _thought Eragon confidently. He had forged the blade of Brisingr and he was positive he could forge a measly pair of tongs for Rhunön. He made his way to the bellows forgoing gloves since he remembered how Rhunön frowned upon the idea that a smith would even bother to wear gloves which could hinder one's work and cause imperfections.

Two hours later, Eragon was sorely mistaken as he watched as Rhunön took the third pair of tongs that he had made to test. She held the pair in the nest of molten coal to test how well it would hold against the heat. A minute passed and she pulled the tongs out and he was glad to find the tool still intact. The earlier two had gave way in the heat but it seemed that he had done right with this third pair. Letting it cool, she began to tap it against the anvil trying to find any fault in it and when she was satisfied she nodded.

"I have learned enough of your skills," declared Rhunön.

"And what have you found?"

"None," said Rhunön raising a brow in his direction. "Which leaves me to question how you could have forged a sword such as the one that you carry at your hip."

"I already told you I had help…Master Rhunön," said Eragon trying not to make his words sound biting. His arms ached and his skin felt heated from all the hammering and shaping he'd done. Rhunön nodded once more.

"No doubt a great deal," she said eyeing the tongs he made once more. "But it does seem as if you are not entirely lost to the winds in matters that concerns the forge. You have proven that you have the diligence it takes to learn. Your first attempt could be called no more than a useless rod of metal. Your second attempt somewhat better and your third the actual product that I have asked of you."

Not bothered by her words in describing his attempt at forging a pair of tongs, Eragon merely waited for her to continue. After a long moment, she set his tongs done. "You may retire for the day," said Rhunön and before Eragon could protest, her eyes narrowed at him. "You have done enough and it is apparent that you are not ready to learn more else than what you know or presume to know now. However, I shall not merely let you go freely."

"And what is it that you wish to impart on me, Master?" asked Eragon warily.

"When you return here early morning tomorrow," said Rhunön with gleaming eyes and he thought she might be smiling but it was hard to tell with the aged elf-smith. "I want you to name each and every metal and ore in existence on Alagaësia and their properties. You have still much to learn if you ever want to attempt to forge more than a pair of tongs."

He grunted and she smiled slightly at his rude answer before shooing him out of her forge. Tired and yet satisfied with himself for the first time since he'd arrived in Ellesméra, Eragon couldn't help but wonder what Rhunön would teach him tomorrow. He had found something to devote his time to now. It would no doubt make his loneliness much easier to bear with. With his swords returned to him, Eragon turned and began to make his way away from Rhunön's forge. The elf-smith, Eragon found was much easier to get along with than the other elves in Ellesméra. She did not practice in their overly refined manners and was quick to snap at him if he treaded wrongly in her forge.

At least now he had one companion in Ellesméra even if she was rather withdrawn when it came to social tendencies but he would have Rhunön no other way. Rather than making his way back to Tialdarí Hall, he stopped by the library of Ellesméra to ask for a text on metals so that he could read overnight and prepare himself for her questioning tomorrow. He was her apprentice now and if he wanted her to take him seriously he was going to have to follow her orders with dedication.

During all the time he had spent with Rhunön, he had been worried that she would ask more about his swords but it seemed as if she had taken his words as adequate explanation. Whatever else she thought about Vrangr and Brisingr, she kept to herself. Perhaps in time he would be able to explain to her but not yet. The large tome explaining metals in his hands, Eragon made his way back to Tialdarí Hall as evening began to fall. Finally feeling as if he was going to have some sense of purpose in his life, he made his way through the gardens towards his quarters ready to turn in for the day and merely spend his time studying.

As he was doing so, he came across Brom also appearing as if he was making to return to his quarters to retire for the day. "Ah Eragon, good evening," said Brom with a slight smile as he caught sight of Eragon. His eyes flickered to the large volume in his hands. "Are you interested in metals?"

"It is a task that Rhunön has given to me," said Eragon as he motioned to the book. At his bemused look, Eragon continued. "She has agreed to take me as an apprentice in her forge."

At his words, surprise flitted across Brom's face. Then he stared at Eragon with a curious eye. "Rhunön has never taken an apprentice in all of her life. What she does, she does alone. Whatever you have done, you must have left a deep impression in her for her to admit you as a student in her craft. I never took you for a smith."

"Neither did I," said Eragon wryly smiling. He gestured to Brom. "Are you returning from your meetings you have been in as of late?"

"Aye," his expression grew serious, "In two days' time I shall be leaving Ellesméra for Surda. I have tarried here far too long and my conscience will not allow me to continue to waste away my days. I have done enough waiting."

"I see," murmured Eragon. So his father had finally found his purpose in life it appeared. Though he did not know what to say, a part of him did not want his father to go but he knew that it was Brom's destiny to do so. "It will be saddening to see the last of my companions go but I wish you well in your journey Brom."

"Aye, and I wish the same for you," said Brom in return. The two of them were quiet for a moment and neither of them seemed to speak before an innocent laugh pierced the air causing the both of them to start. The voice sound familiar but happier and more at ease.

It was then followed by another voice, "Arya, do not run through the gardens," the voice of Evandar chided and instantly Eragon fought to turn on the spot. If Brom saw him react in a great flurry of emotions, he would question him. Instead, he watched as Brom glanced over his shoulder with a smile. Seeing his reaction, Eragon took this as a safe cue to turn about and stare behind him. All he saw was a flash of dark hair as Evandar turned and disappeared within the shadowed boles that guarded the interior of Tialdarí Hall where Evandar and his family resided deep in the heart of the compound.

She was behind him mere moments earlier and he had missed his chance to see her. In that instance, Eragon wanted to throw the tome in his hand to the opposite side of the garden but took in a deep breath instead. He was going to remain patient. Arya would come to him eventually; there was no need for him to feel frustrated. She had wandered for seventy years which was nearly six decades more than him searching for a sense of belonging. In comparison to the time Arya spent, he could wait for her. Turning back to Brom, he inclined his head gathering his thoughts once more.

"In any case, it was a pleasure to know you Brom," said Eragon holding his hand out to the man before him. "Before you leave know this, when the time comes, I shall join you and your desire to see to the end of Galbatorix and his Forsworn. I can promise you that."

"I understand and I shall wait for that time to come," said Brom his blue eyes shining. "May peace live in your heart, Eragon."

Deeming Brom important enough to finish the exchange, Eragon nodded as he replied in kind, "And may the stars watch over you…" _Father._

With that said, they parted ways and he could not help but glance over his shoulders at Brom before he made his way back to his chambers. Moving into his study, he set the large tome down on the ornate pine wood desk that stood in the center and was about to sit down to read before he frowned. Leaving his study, he returned a moment later with the glass orb of his white rose in hand. Setting the orb on the edge of his desk and using magic to hold it in place, Eragon nodded and took his seat.

Opening the volume before him, he began to read the trilling laughter a constant thought in the back of his mind.

**Now I wanted to address the concerns over Arya's age. In the beginning Arya (as I have roughly calculated) is about three years old. Eragon doesn't really meet Arya so young (and you shall see why in the next chapter when she appears!) But I did my math with what was given to me on the Inheritance Wikia. Arya was born in 7899 AC while Eragon was born in 7985, therefore she is 86 years older than him. In the first book, Eragon turns 16 I believe therefore making Arya 102 years old and if we are going along with the assumption that the entire span of the Inheritance Cycle is a year (which I believe it is since winter did not pass except for in the beginnings of Eragon),she is a 103 by the end of Inheritance (which is what it says on the Wikia). I did not want to alter her age since it is too much of a significant change in her character and would flaw the story for if a century passed she would be more than 103 years old. And so that is that and since there really isn't much more I want to say, I hope to see you all soon again!**


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**This will be the first jump in time in To Move Forward everyone and also Arya's first appearance in the story! I am still debating on whether or not I will include Arya POVs yet but I think I might have an idea on how to work on incorporating her thoughts into the story. In any case, I shall address some questions left in the last chapter and some that I just remembered. 1) Eragon does not know the true name of the ancient language because if he did, he would be too powerful. 2) Eragon in this story is older than Arya and he will keep aging until time catches up and you shall see how. 3) Rhunon is very old. Evandar and Islanzadi are both 400+ years old and there were two queens before Evandar and if we go by this standard and the fact that Rhunon was alive before the pact with the dragons were made she is definitely 1000+ years old. 4) Oromis shall appear soon... 5) ExA will happen perhaps just not as expected. Anyways with those concerns addressed, have fun reading! R&R!**

Learning under Rhunön was much different decided Eragon than learning under either Galbatorix or Oromis. She was both ruthless and yet an effective teacher. However on the third week, if Eragon could say that there was a hell on earth, then it was Rhunön's forge. She was adamant about him understanding the different metals and such and refused to allow him anywhere near the forge until he managed to tell the different between metals through touching and at times smelling them. And so, Eragon was subjected to test after test until he was able to close his eyes and sort apart the metals that she brought before him and it was this constant learning that took up a year in Ellesméra which would be the first of many to come in which he spent learning beneath Rhunön.

The time he spent at Rhunön's forge ate away at all of his remaining time and the more he spent with the aged elf the more he grew to focus during his stay in Ellesméra. It was fortunate that he was able to see Brom off before he left for the moment his training under Rhunön began, time was nonexistent to him even though in truth he had a century's worth to do as he pleased until his time to play a larger role in Alagaësia returned. Despite the rigor of his apprenticeship, he enjoyed leaning Rhunön's craft but as always there was one downside to her teaching. Early mornings he was forced to wake despite the lethargy that his body was never able to shake off. However, the first morning he entered Rhunön's forge for his learning was a horrid memory. He had nearly ended up walking into the smelter that she was building and onto burning coals had it not been for Rhunön who had stopped him. Then she scowled at him and warned him the next time he dared to enter her forge without his eyes in place that she was going to let him burn and let the pain of his burning skin be a memory that would impress on him the importance of using his senses.

Despite the diligence he saw to his studies under Rhunön he was not lost on his own dedication to his other obligations. He used his remaining time to study more on magic and to try and perfect his spells. His mother had been a master at manipulating the ancient language and because of that she was a ruthless warrior. He aimed to do the same and perhaps even more so. And when he was not studying magic, he was mediating through way of the Rimgar. The exercise was needed to relax his tensed limbs and muscles which seemed to cramp and knot uncomfortably the more time he spent with Rhunön in her forge. Though she tried to teach him various ways to ease the aching pain in his shoulders and arms, Eragon had a difficult time following for when she made to relax his upper torso; she would _unintentionally _put too much pressure to his muscles and would only serve to cause him to cramp even more.

"Can you not do that?" gritted Eragon as Rhunön took his arm in her hands to twist uncomfortably. He had half the mind to snap at her and tell the elf smith that he was not made out of feathers like a pillow and that he needed his bones whole and unsnapped.

"Quiet," snapped Rhunön, sending him an irritated stare. He did as she said and waited as she began to run her fingers about his arm testing the muscles and he gritted his teeth even more. Then she twisted his arm, each half in different directions and he heard a tremendous snap in his bones and a strangled sound was torn from him as his muscles relaxed.

"Are you trying to break my arm?" asked Eragon darkly as he rubbed his right arm before flinching when she took his left arm in her hands.

"Enough with your complaining," said Rhunön as she twisted his left arm without warning nearly causing him to jerk involuntarily on the chair that he sat on. She poked and prodded his arms in various places and when she made to take hold of his shoulders, Eragon immediately tore himself from her grasp. No matter how many times he told Rhunön that he was not one of her many pieces of art for her to twist and snap into place, it appeared as if the elf-smith paid him no heed. Instead, she sent him a dangerous look.

"If you do not take care to relax your body after spending your days hunched over an anvil, you may very well end up permanently bending your bones in place," scowled Rhunön as she took his shoulders in her hands, her calloused hands moving to rest on either side of his neck. "And since you seem to be having difficulties even doing that much, I will have to do it for you." Then she proceeded to mutter underneath her breath how she had taken an apprentice who could not seem to learn how to take care of himself. After a moment, she spoke once more to him directly. "It shall hurt Eragon."

He nodded, "Just forewarn me—"

Before he could finish, she pressed down on his neck with her fingers before snapping his head to the side causing a bone to let out a sound of relief. Feeling his eyes water as Rhunön released his head, he reached up to rub his neck staring up at her with narrowed eyes. "I asked that you warned me before your try to snap the bones in my neck sideways," grumbled Eragon as he stood to make way to her humble kitchen ready to cook supper for them to eat. It had been a routine that they had perfected over the years that he had been learning under Rhunön. Having dined with Rhunön since they started his apprenticeship, Eragon could not go on eating bread and cheese for the rest of his stay in Ellesméra and though he loathed to actually cook himself food seeing as he always had Bard to do so or could always fetch a meal to eat at the kitchens, he was forced to improvise seeing as Rhunön did not leave her forge often.

"My actions were warning enough," said Rhunön without any remorse as she sat at the wooden table her eyes flitting over the scrolls that lay before her. Eragon snorted quietly to himself as he reached forward to open one of her cupboards pulling out two bowls and two wooden goblets. Leave it to her to warn him in such a way but still he could not help but feel grateful to her for the aches in his body had subsided. As he thought of her painful ways to relieve muscle tension in his body he could not help but remember how it felt to have Arya's smooth hands easily rub away the knots that formed whenever he overexerted himself. That memory felt like a lifetime ago and perhaps it was thought Eragon as he lifted the lid of a wooden jar and reached inside for tea leaves which he easily crushed and placed within each goblet.

"Only you would think so," said Eragon moving to fill the goblets with water. When they were filled, he heated them with magic and returned to the table to give one to Rhunön for her to drink. At times, he felt like a caretaker when it came to his forge master. If Rhunön did not see to herself, he would oftentimes have to see to her. And that was his life for the past twelve years he had been living in Ellesméra. It was in this moment as he was tending to the food did he realize just how fast time seemed to pass them by. It was as Arya had said, centuries could flit by if they did not heed to their awareness of the outside world.

Expertly slicing the onions and tomatoes before him, Eragon with a sweep of his hand and cutting knife, placed the sliced vegetables in the metal pot before him. As he continued to cook them supper, Rhunön was quiet behind him and he knew she was deep in thought. He had years to perfect his student-master relationship with Rhunön. Though the elves found her eccentricities odd, he could not help but think that they were refreshing and at times even amusing.

After a moment, Rhunön spoke, "Do you plan to attend the Winter Feast?"

Eragon frowned at the mention of the feast. It was a feast that the elves held on the winter solstice when the sun was at its lowest point on the horizon. The beauty of the forest during such a time was breathtaking and one could not help but admire the once green world cloaked in white as the sun shined down on it. But despite the joy and festivities, Eragon could not bring himself near the elves and their celebrations for he knew that Arya and her family would be present. Though he wanted to see her, a greater part of him was reluctant to do so.

"I am surprised that you are even aware that there is a Winter Feast," said Eragon as he stirred the soup he was cooking practically feeling Rhunön's deep scowl behind his back. It was true, he was slightly surprised that Rhunön heard word of the feast since she did not appear interested in anything else apart from the happenings within her forge. As the soup was boiling, he went to gather the rest of their supper. Opening her pantry, he pulled out a loaf of bread which he set on a simple and yet beautifully carved wooden plate and then a few pastries. "I had thought that you viewed such matters trying. What were your words again? _A gaggle of meaningless chatter?_"

He turned his head and caught her eyes watching as her scowled deepened. "I remembered what I said well enough without needing you to reiterate it," she said as she took a drink from her goblet, her eyes studying him intensely. "Well, will you attend?"

"I do not see the reason I should," said Eragon finding a ladle to stir the soup with. He reached for the dry spices beside him and with a practiced hand sprinkled the ruby grain into the soup, stirring the spice into the liquid to give it a distinct flavor. "If I do not attend this year, there shall always be another opportunity to attend next year."

"And what is the reason for you not to attend?" asked Rhunön. Eragon could feel her eyes boring into the back of his skull and he fought the urge to turn about. Reason? He inwardly sighed, it was because he was hiding. He knew that Oromis and Glaedr were usually present at the feast as was required of them and he was never ready to face them. A part of Eragon wondered how the Oromis and Glaedr in his time would react if they were to find out that he had traveled back a century in time merely out of his own selfish desires to live once more. Would they look down at him? His frown deepened.

"Would it suffice to say that I have none?" asked Eragon tasting the soup. Satisfied with its flavors, he grabbed the two wooden bowls he'd set aside and filled both to the brim with soup. Then setting them on a tray he marched back to the table and set a bowl before Rhunön and another before his seat. Returning to the cupboard once more, he grabbed two wooden spoons and the plate with the loaf of bread he had set to the side. Returning to his seat across from Rhunön Eragon placed the bread in the middle of the table and handed her a wooden spoon.

She accepted it, her scowl still on her face as she observed him. Scooping up a spoonful of soup, he swallowed it in his mouth letting the hot liquid cascade down his throat. It was a welcome to the chilling cold that pervaded the outside world. "You have lived here as a guest of Evandar Könungr and his house for twelve years, Eragon. You should at least make it a priority to show yourself at one of the feasts or festivals that is held in Ellesméra."

He raised a brow at her still surprised that Rhunön, of all people would be the one to speak to him of such matters. He was content to merely living his life in Ellesméra away from others but it seemed as if even that much he could not achieve. Eragon, despite the years he'd lived in Ellesméra, never did well in the company of other elves. They were all too polite and refined that he found it hard to hold a conversation that did not continually loop in circles. And to add to the difficulties he found in speaking to others, he never had the patience or interest in idle talk which made conversations painfully dull and repetitive.

"Evandar Könungr did not seem to push me into attending," said Eragon with a frown as he swallowed another spoonful of soup.

"Ha!" Rhunön shook her head, "Another result of our overly refined sense of etiquette. You are his guest, the very same who saved his live twelve years ago, and are entitled to the hospitality of his house. He cannot simply force it upon you to attend to matters that you might find mundane when they are deeply rooted in elven culture and society."

He pondered her words for a moment glad that she was forthright with her thoughts. Had he insulted King Evandar? He frowned in deep contemplation before he turned his eyes to her. "Will you be attending this year?"

"No," Rhunön lifted her spoon to her mouth swallowing her spoonful of soup. After a few seconds, she continued. "I have attended plenty in my lifetime and I doubt my company will be sorely missed."

"The same goes for me," agreed Eragon. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"You have yet to attend any of the festivities in your twelve years here," she said her brows slanting dangerously. "I cannot see where it is the same for you."

"I do not think my company will be highly sought out," Eragon pointed out to her. "Therefore I do not think it is of utmost importance that I attend."

Her lips pursed at his logic but as stubborn as Eragon was, he knew that Rhunön was just as stubborn. "The others will grow to think of you as ignorant and ill mannered," said Rhunön with a frown.

"If I grew to care about what each person thought of me, I would hide myself in a cave far north and away from civilization," said Eragon. Though she wanted to scold him it seemed, he saw a twitch in Rhunön's lips and knew that the elf found his words amusing. As much as he enjoyed Rhunön's company he was positive that she also enjoyed his in return. Before he became an apprentice under her, she had lived rather lonely in her forge and house away from the others and it appeared that most elves did not seek Rhunön out knowing of her distaste for anything except for her work.

"You are steadfast in your decision not to attend?" asked Rhunön with a frown.

"I am," said Eragon. Finishing his soup he reached for the bread and with deft fingers easily split the loaf into two equal halves. He held one half to Rhunön as a peace offering hoping that she would abandon the conversation. To his relief she did not push him and took the half to eat alongside with her soup. Instead of conversing, the two of them continued to finish their supper in silence often speaking when they deemed fit.

When they were done eating, Rhunön turned her eyes to him. "Before you leave Eragon," she said in a soft voice, "I would wish that you consider my words. You are still young in elven society and as such some transgressions may be overlooked but you must remember that you are one of the few remaining Riders and your lack of disregard for elvish culture may cause you to appear as if you are ungrateful."

Strapping Vrangr to his back, he adjusted Brisingr on his left hip and nodded. "I will," said Eragon. He paused before he bowed to Rhunön. "Rest well Master Rhunön."

She inclined her head to him and disappeared to the second story of her adobe. Lingering for a moment longer, Eragon turned on his heel and left. He knew what it was that Rhunön spoke of. The fact that she showed her concerns told him more than her words itself. The elves were bothered by his lack of interest and respect in their culture. He was not sure who but he knew there were those amongst them that did not like his attitude and in retrospect, Eragon was positive he would not like himself if he saw how he was acting from an outsider's view.

He had never been cast to the winds on his own before and because of that he found difficulties in acting. Everything he did rested solely upon his own shoulders. There was no higher authority that commanded him. Yes, he did answer to Evandar Könungr but that was due to the fact that he resided within the elf king's domain. The moment he set foot outside of Du Weldenvarden he was free to do what he wished. If he wanted to hide out in a cave in the north, there was no one to stop him. It was with this freedom that he found himself hesitant in his purpose. Without someone to decide for him, it was difficult to choose his own path.

His thoughts wandered back to his conversation with Rhunön. Eragon understood that his lack of attendance appeared to be rude and ungrateful towards the king who had given him asylum within Ellesméra but he did not know how to act amongst the elves. What could he do? What could he say? His personality, which was a stark contrast to most elves, made it hard for him to share in their views and maintain any sort of interest in their affairs. Then there was also the matter of Glaedr and Oromis. He did not want to risk them delving into his secrets. The two of them were intelligent and could gather that there was an aspect of Eragon that was suspicious and he did not want to relinquish his knowledge to others yet. It was too dangerous of a risk to take.

Perhaps this was the moment he should leave Ellesméra?

He had waited for twelve years for Brom to form the Varden and it was with great effort and difficulty that his father had managed to do so two years past. But the Varden was still so very young and if he joined now, he could risk altering the structure of the Varden. That would mean that he would have to wait a few more years before he could join the Varden. If there was one thing that he learned during his stay in Ellesméra and apprenticeship underneath Rhunön, it was to try for patience. At times, he would be able to grasp the idea well enough and others he did not. Eragon was naturally an impatient person and so it was difficult to change his mindset.

Pulling his cloak tighter about him to keep the chilly winds at bay, he continued his trek through the forest towards Tialdarí Hall. The snow crunched underneath his boots as he walked through the now familiar city of Ellesméra. Not bothering to stop to greet others and nor did they seem inclined to return the sentiment, he returned to Tialdarí Hall with little incidents on the way.

Passing through the gardens towards the common room, he continued onward down the hall made of tree trunks and entered his quarters. Unfastening his brooch that he had made himself in the shape of a dragon, he folded his cloak and placed it on the armchair in his living room. Too tired to study that night, he continued onwards towards his bedroom removing his swords as he did so. He took a seat on his bed, reaching down and unlacing his boots before sliding his feet from the leather.

As he sat there, he sighed rubbing a hand over his face. He felt much older than he did. He was near his third decade now and yet he had remained unchanged by the mark of time. Lifting his face from his hands, his eyes caught sight of the glass orb on his bedside table. Reaching out to take the orb in his hands, he stared at the white rose embedded in the glass. Twelve years had passed and he had yet to come across Arya. Not even a slight glance. He had heard whispers of her presence through Tialdarí Hall and Ellesméra but he never had the fortune of seeing her with his own eyes. How long was he going to have to wait to see her?

The biggest reason as to why Eragon never made to seek Arya out was due in part to his fear. It was no longer his fear of seeing a different Arya since he had long but accepted that the one he would meet was going to be different but his fear of manipulating her. He knew Arya perhaps more so than she knew herself. He did not want his actions to affect the outcome of her personality. When she decided to seek him out or when fate deemed it time for him to meet her than he would allow himself to be near her. Otherwise, he would wait to do so.

Turning his eyes away from the glass orb, he instead stared at his right palm where his gedwëy ignasia. _Twelve years, _thought Eragon. It was rather hard for him to wrap his mind over the fact that he had spent twelve years in Ellesméra, that he had spent a decade away from his true life—away from his love ones.

Blinking once more, he sighed. Though he had sought to not think of his past life these past years there always was a moment in time in which he found it hard not to think of anything else. Upset and tired, he wearily closed his eyes. He might as well rest. Unable to continue on, he lowered his head to his pillow glancing at the empty space beside him. Closing his eyes for a moment, he turned his back on the spot and drew the covers over him as he went to sleep.

The day of the Winter Feast, Eragon was busy working in the forge and Rhunön had decided to leave him alone to work seeing as he appeared troubled when she saw him earlier in the day. Holding the chisel in his hands, Eragon frowned as he angled the end towards the steel statue before him that he had been spending the past few months working on with diligence. With a light tap of his hammer against the chisel, he shaved off another strip of metal with ease.

Sitting before him on the workbench was a statue of a dragon about to take flight. It was a statue of Saphira that he was trying to chisel from memory. Whenever he was upset or troubled, he would pick up the chisel and hammer in Rhunön's forge and set himself to work on detailing out his memories of Saphira upon the metal. So far, the statue was far from done. He had managed to get the outline of her body and soon he was going to have to etch her scales in one by one to the best of his abilities and then work on her spikes and her many other features. It was detailed work but he rather have something to occupy his time with else he would end up brooding over fate.

Carefully continuing his chiseling of Saphira, Eragon blinked when he heard the sound of boots and the shift in the snow. Rhunön was already back to bother him? Not glancing up from his work at the sound of footsteps, Eragon said, "I will not change my mind Master Rhunön."

Preparing to chisel away at the uneven parts around the shoulders, he blinked when instead of a guttural and raspy voice that answered him a melodious and familiar one did. His surprise was so great that he missed the end of his chisel and ended up hammering his own fingers. Blinking at the pain, he stared down at his broken fingers before lifting his head towards the open wall of the forge. The person standing there made his heart catch in his chest as time seemed to stand still.

Standing there with a heavy cloak clasped about her at the base of her throat was a beautiful and radiant elf maiden perhaps—in his opinion—the most stunning person there was to ever walk Alagaësia. He took in her angular face, her long, ebony tresses that fell down her back like a waterfall, the slant of her brows, the curve of her red lips, and the proud way in which she held herself. But the most shocking and moving characteristics of the elf before him were her dark emerald eyes which sparkled as they peered out at the world curiously. Was that truly Arya standing before him? Unable to speak, he could only stare at her in surprise and immediately all the longing for her in the past twelve years that he had held close to his heart seemed to burst forth. She was younger thought Eragon as he stared at her. There was not a great difference between the Arya before him and his Arya in appearance apart from the radiant glow that seemed to cling to Arya's skin due to her youth. She was but fifteen years old remembered Eragon in surprise, around the same age he was when he first met her.

Realizing that it was rude of him to not speak, Eragon stood and touched two of his fingers to his lips as he greeted her first. She was a princess after all. She responded in kind repeating the second line to him and he finished with the third line. He had only said the third line to three other people apart from Arya: Oromis, Evandar, and Islanzadí. There was a slight change in her emerald eyes which he knew was to be her slight shock at how he respected her even if he did not know her or rather she did not think he knew her.

She glided further into the forge and away from the cold of the outside, her eyes flickering to the rough statue of Saphira that was sitting before him on the workbench. "How are your fingers?" asked Arya gesturing towards his hand with a slender finger.

_My fingers?_

Somewhat confused for the moment, he tried to shake the daze his mind was in. His thoughts were too muddled for him to sort through and every time he lingered a second longer on Arya's stunning appearance, it just seemed to daze him even more. It took a few seconds for her words to process and when they did, he glanced down at his fingers on his left hand to find that they were healed. Remembering that he had hammered them in his surprise, Eragon nearly wanted to groan aloud. He must look to be in poor form for a smith. If Rhunön had saw what he'd done she would have shook her head at his lack of control.

Still reeling from the sight of Arya after twelve long years, Eragon blinked before he heard himself asking her, "Are you here to see Rhunön-elda?"

Arya merely smiled at him as if she knew a secret that he did not and instantly his heart constricted in his chest as he remembered all of her smiles that she had bestowed upon him during their time together. The Arya he knew never smiled freely for anyone and whenever she smiled at him, he had always cherished it. Now to be receiving a smile from her and yet having not met her in this time, he could not help but think of their differences already. _Stop thinking, _Eragon mentally berated himself as Arya moved to answer him.

"I have already seen Rhunön-elda," her emerald eyes sparkled, "She has already left for the Winter Feast."

Surprised, Eragon stared at Arya. "Is she ill?" asked Eragon not thinking of any other way Rhunön would attend the feast when but days earlier she had told him she was not the least bit interested in the festivities. He expected Arya to pin him with a look that told him to show some common courtesy but instead she merely laughed lightly, the trilling sound of her voice rooting him to the spot.

"No, perhaps irritated but not ill," said Arya once her laughter had subsided. She made her way forward to him once more and his eyes detailed the way she walked. She appeared to be utterly relaxed, another distinguishing factor between this Arya and the one that he knew. Her emerald eyes settled on the dragon statue before she spoke once more. "Are you chiseling the details of your dragon into a statue?"

"Yes," said Eragon wincing at how awkward his one word answer was. Never before did he wish he had some sort of eloquence when it came to speaking with Arya. Did he even sound coherent to her? He saw her fingers twitch and instantly knew what she wanted. "If you are curious, I am not against you touching my work."

Arya did not say anything but he could see the gleam in her eyes which told him that she was interested in what she saw. He watched as she let her fingers trace over the details of the dragon statue. It was akin to the light caresses that she always gave him whenever they were lying together. As she stood there, he could not help but feel rather heady when the scent of crushed pine needles floated over to him. Her hair shifted and his fingers twitched wanting to brush the strand away behind her pointed ear.

"There is still much for me to do," Eragon said wanting to fill the silence else he was afraid she would hear his pounding heartbeat. "It will take months for me to completely bring justice to the memory of my dragon."

"Though unfinished, its beauty is not diminished," said Arya causing a swell of pride to rush through Eragon at her approval. She paused before pulling her fingers back to turn her eyes to him and he blinked remembering the innumerous emotions that he had seen in the very same emerald eyes peering out at him. He had seen her cry before. He had seen her in the throes of passion. He had seen her angry. He had seen her humored. And above all, he had seen her for who she was as she had seen him. But the moment the thought struck him, another thought pushed its way to the forefront. Those were his memories of another life, another Arya. The one standing before him, was not his and he was unsure if she ever would be.

Unable to continue in her presence due to the tremendous heartache that suffused him, Eragon found his voice and asked, "Is there something else that you are seeking, Arya Dröttningu?" If she was surprised that he knew her name, she did not show it.

Instead she nodded, "If you are not busy," her eyes flicked to the statue and back to Eragon. "Will you attend the Winter Feast with me? I am curious to know the Rider whom saved the life of my father and has become the only person taken as the apprentice of Rhunön-elda."

She was asking for his presence? He stared at her and all the reasons for not going to the Winter Feast that he had prepared days earlier in case Rhunön decided to persuade him to attend fell away as he nodded, mute from his shock. Her only response was to smile at him and instantly, his love for her welled up considerably and as he followed her, he ached to reach out and take her hand.

Was this fate's second chance of allowing him to know Arya once more? If it was thought Eragon firmly, he was going to take it. He had waited twelve years for her and his patience was rewarded for she had sought him out due to her own curiosity. As they passed underneath the dogwood tunnel, he could not help but think of another time when he and Arya had walked together hand in hand under the very same tunnel. His eyes slid over to Arya as she walked by his side and he swore to himself then that he would not miss another opportunity to know Arya once more.

Fate had finally brought her to him.

**I was always curious as to how Arya's relationship was like with Rhunon in the original series and I could not help but just tie her relationship with Rhunon together with her relationship to Eragon. It just seemed fitting in this sense. Anyways, onto bigger **concerns...Arya** and Eragon had just met and Eragon is completely speechless! (There is a part 2 to this and then another time jump). Anyways, in the beginning Arya will be OC since in the book her character was already defined since she's lived for a hundred years but don't worry we shall see the Arya we know later on in this story. Now with Arya introduced the story shall begin to pick up pace and things will start to get rougher on Eragon. Anticipate the next chapter everyone! See you soon! And gosh I am spoiling you all, three chapters in 2 days?**


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**And so here is the second part for you all to read. (Standard Disclaimer-I used a few sentences that Oromis says in Eldest in this chapter since I thought they fit with the context. Inheritance=CP) Apart from that, let's address some concerns. 1) Eragon only acted like that because **well...he** was seeing Arya for the first time in twelve years and since he is already in love with some form of Arya, it was mind blowing for him. Don't worry though, the shock wears off eventually! 2) I know some of you want to see Eragon spar so don't worry, it'll come up soon. 3) Thank you to Ky111 for pointing out my mixing up of Drottningu and Drottning (I went back and fixed it all!) 4) This OC Arya does not last long. Anyways, apart from those concerns, feel free to R&R!**

Emerging from the tunnel, he followed Arya tugging his cloak closer to his body as he did so. Despite the chill of the winter, he could not help but feel warm. The part of Arya that was merged with his soul seemed to radiate a calming heat that pervaded his entire body. Was the part of her within him reacting to the Arya beside him? He could only speculate as he followed beside Arya listening to her speak and trying to commit to memory the sound of her melodious voice. Eventually, she turned to him with a curious look. "Do you enjoy your apprenticeship with Rhunön?"

He pondered her question for a moment before at long last, Eragon nodded. "It is an interesting and rigorous craft to apply myself to," said Eragon thinking of the past twelve years that he had spent learning underneath Rhunön. "However, I do not see myself learning how to smith for the rest of my life."

"And why is that if I may ask?" Her emerald eyes peered at him curiously causing him to blink. Had it not been for the fact that he had not seen Arya in twelve years and that he was dealing with an entirely different personality, he would not be as nervous as he was presently.

"I do not wish to stay here while Galbatorix sits on his underserved throne," said Eragon with a hard expression as he thought of his life's work waiting for him. A few more years and once Brom handed over control of the Varden to Weldon, he would be able to finally leave and pursue his goal in life. He was never meant to tarry when Galbatorix was still alive in his future—his past life. And he was certainly not going to start now. "There is too much to be done and if we simply let matters wait, nothing shall be resolved."

His eyes darted to Arya and he could tell from the way her brows were furrowed and the slight dip downwards of her lips that she was in deep contemplation and that was when he realized that it was around this age that Arya began to question her role in life. Was she questioning now? Was she contemplating the idea of stepping outside of Du Weldenvarden? He dared not speak for he was afraid he would only serve to interrupt her thoughts.

Eventually she spoke, "Have you decided when to leave?"

"Not yet," said Eragon shaking his head. "But I have no doubt that the day to depart will be soon." He was going to have to bid his time and hope that when the time came for him to leave he would be able to do so. She nodded her thoughtful expression yet to fade from her face. After a long moment, he decided to direct the conversation towards Arya. "And what of you, Arya Dröttningu? Have you found anything of interest that you would like to study in?"

He waited for her answer watching as her lips pursed slightly, barely enough to be noticeable, and a crease formed between her brows. Her answer to his question would show him just how different this Arya could be from the one he knew. Or perhaps, it would show him just how similar the two of them could be. It took her a few moments to reply and when she did, he could only feel relieved. "I do not know yet," said Arya seriously. "There is still much to consider…and I…" she faltered hesitantly before falling into silence altogether.

Her hesitancy gave him hope that she was indeed considering the position as elven ambassador of her people. Though he had prevented the death of her father, which in the other time motivated her to want to strike out against Galbatorix, it appeared as if Arya was still unsure of merely living with the boundaries of Du Weldenvarden. Perhaps she was always destined to leave the confines of the forest, thought Eragon. Perhaps, she never really needed motivation to find her role in life and maybe it was Arya, herself, who sought the world outside of the lush green domain of her father's kingdom.

"It is understandable," said Eragon inclining head to try and reassure her that her indecision was not a fault in her.

Following Arya, he blinked in surprise as they passed through an open archway and into a hall that resembled Tialdarí Hall but this one was more spacious. He had never seen it before in his time within Ellesméra and it made him curious as to how he could have overlooked it. Catching sight of his expression, Arya sought to explain to him. "This is a hall in which we hold our festivities when we are otherwise incapable to do so outside," she gestured to the wintery scene of Ellesméra that one could see through one of the windows. "It would be most uncomfortable to host a feast in the snow."

"That it would be," agreed Eragon glancing about the large hall. He spotted the flameless lanterns that hung above them overhead and could feel the festive atmosphere from the elves that were gathered for the occasion. "Has it started yet?"

"It has," said Arya with a nod. He frowned, apologetic that he had caused her to miss the beginnings of the feast. "It is of little concern," she said catching sight of his expression as she led him to the grand table in the center amongst all the others set out within the hall. At the head sat Evandar Könungr and to his right was Islanzadí Dröttningu. Unsure of where to sit himself, he was about to merely find a table to the side to settle himself at when Arya shook her head and motioned for him to follow her. Glancing at the table where Evandar and his mate resided over, he blinked when he caught sight of Oromis. Where was Glaedr?

His question was answered when he caught sight of amber scales from one of the windows. Keeping his face calm, he followed Arya to her seat to Evandar's left. She motioned to the empty seat beside her to which he took after a moment's hesitation greeting the king as he did so.

"Ah, Eragon," Evandar smiled at him as he settled himself beside Arya. The king turned and exchanged a look with his daughter and Eragon watched interested with how Arya would interact with Evandar. She reached out and laid a hand on his for a few seconds before pulling away as he nodded. "It is a pleasure to see you outside of the forge."

"I apologize for my lack of attendance these past years," said Eragon sincerely. "I was too busy in regards to my apprenticeship under Rhunön-elda."

"It is understood," said Evandar with a nod, pleased with his apology. "Rhunön, I believe, is not an easy teacher to learn under, particularly when it comes to her craft."

"Yes," Eragon nodded, "But she is an effective one none the less."

"How goes your study at the forge?" asked Islanzadí curiously, her emerald eyes darting to him. Eragon received a plate from one of the elves and thanked the person before turning his attention back to Islanzadí Dröttningu.

"It goes well," Eragon answered her. He spent the next few minutes speaking to Islanzadí and Evandar about his study under Rhunön and his time spent apart from the forge and when they were satisfied with the information they were presented, they turned their attention away from him and towards others. Glad to be done with the questioning, he turned his attention back to the plate of fruits and vegetables before him.

Content to merely keeping to himself, he picked up his fork and began to eat allowing his eyes to roam the hall trying to find a familiar face in the crowd of many. As he did so, he blinked when they eventually landed on Rhunön who sat a few seats away from him. The elf smith appeared irritated that she was present for the feast and was speaking in what he assumed to be short and clipped tones with those about her.

It was heartening to know that Rhunön did not find such activities enjoyable. The both of them had similar viewings when it came to elven festivities which were to say they did not fit the atmosphere. While Rhunön lacked the patience to deal with the outside world, Eragon lacked the etiquette. He had grown up a lone child without the presence of any friends his age and was content to merely spending his time with his mother and Saphira. Fifteen years of isolation from the outside world had made it difficult for him to speak freely to others.

"At what age did you become a Rider?" He paused and turned to Arya. He had thought she was conversing with the other elves but she had turned her head and focused her attention on him instead. Feeling his throat go dry, Eragon thought of his answer to her question. He could see no harm with telling her the truth about his age when Saphira hatched for him.

"I was twelve," said Eragon softly. His eyes flickered to his fork as he expertly twirled it from finger to finger. Then he paused, his eyes moving back to hold her gaze before he smiled. "It was undoubtedly the best thing that could have happened to me." _Apart from meeting you, _Eragon thought mentally wishing he could tell her by word of mouth. He knew, however, it would only serve to alarm her.

There was a gleam in her eyes and Eragon could only think that her curiosity was inflamed. Then she asked a question that no one had dared asked him in the twelve years he resided in Ellesméra. "What was the name of your dragon?"

He froze. He had never spoken Saphira's name to anyone since he had arrived to this time. No one knew the name of his dragon and he had an inkling that they did not ask simply out of respect for his loss. Mistaking his silence for offense, Arya continued. "If it bothers you, you do not have to—"

"Her name," said Eragon softly, so softly that only Arya could hear, "Was Saphira."

She blinked at him once like an owl before nodding, her eyes lowering to the table before they lifted to meet his gaze once more. "That is a beautiful name," said Arya gently. "She was no doubt a magnificent dragon."

"She was," said Eragon with a nodded. He grew silent and without anything better to do, ate the berry pie before him. And so he began to describe to Arya Saphira. She sat listening to him, entranced by what he had to say about his dragon. Though he kept important details vague, Arya understood the meaning of most of his stories and did not question him. Instead, she listened to him in interest and he could see a gleam enter her eyes when he described to her his first flight with Saphira or when he watched her hunt for herself for the first time when she was old enough. And before he knew it, the pain of mentioning Saphira began to dull in his chest. Speaking about her, recalling the memories he spent with his bonded partner proved to him that she did exist in his other time—that his memories of her were real and that he had lived his life as he remembered it before Alagaësia had granted him his wish.

Eventually after some time when he was done, he felt as if a great burden was lifted from his chest. He was finally able to tell someone about Saphira. He was able to finally share the memories long buried his heart with another. Turning back to his plate of food, he took a bite out of his apple slices dipped with syrup.

"It would mean much if you can keep this conversation between the two of us," said Eragon letting the sweet taste of syrup erupt in his mouth. "I do not want my dragon to become common knowledge."

"Of course," said Arya with a nod. "It is your right to share not mine. However, I am grateful that you were willing to speak to me about her."

Eventually the dining was done and instead the merriment began. While several tables pulled out interesting games to play such as runes, a quartet had appeared in the hall. Two elves bore harps of cherrywood, the third a set of reed pipes, and the fourth nothing but her voice, which she immediately put to use with a playful song that danced about their ears. And though Eragon wanted to speak with Arya more she had to attend to her duties and speak with the other elves particularly the high elf lords and ladies. Even though she was still young, her status required that she played her part.

Trying not to let her absence bother him too much, he instead searched for two goblets of faelnirv and weaved in and out between the elves that were conversing in small groups about the hall. Careful to avoid the center where the dancing was, he found Rhunön tucked away in a secluded corner looking all the world as if someone had tossed her precious artwork into an infernal abyss.

"You do not seem to be enjoying yourself," said Eragon as he appeared before her. If she appeared to be surprised by his appearance, she did not show it. Instead she merely accepted the proffered goblet of liqueur, taking a long sip from it.

Then in her raspy voice, "I was all but forced to by Arya Dröttningu," said Rhunön with narrowed eyes as she stared at Arya who was conversing with Lord Däthedr across the hall. Eragon merely waited interested in what she had to say. "She has proven to be Islanzadí's daughter quite well. Despite her youth, she knows how to use her words wisely and with great intelligence."

"Is it not only fitting that she does as the daughter of Evandar Könungr and Islanzadí Dröttningu?" asked Eragon.

"One would say so," acknowledged Rhunön. She was quiet for a moment before she turned to stare at Eragon, raising her brow ever so slightly. "And what of you? I had thought you were opposed to attending the Winter Feast."

"I, too, was asked by Arya Dröttningu to attend," said Eragon. Rhunön stared at him curiously but did not say anything more to his words. Instead the two of them stood together drinking their goblets of faelnirv as they stayed away from the celebratory atmosphere. Eventually after some time of watching the elves dance about, Eragon turned to Rhunön. "Can you dance Master Rhunön?"

"What sort of question is that?" she asked startled at his curiosity in her footwork.

"A curious one," responded Eragon.

"I can Eragon," said Rhunön, "It is natural amongst elves to possess grace even if one does not practice in it for years."

He found that hard to believe but she had spoken in the ancient language and he had no choice but to accept her words. They settled into a comfortable silence once more and as he drank his faelnirv, he could not help but let his eyes wander back to Arya. She was no longer speaking with Lord Däthedr but was now conversing with another elf. Perhaps he had already had his time with her for the day thought Eragon as he took a long drink of his faelnirv. It would be selfish of him to ask for anymore of her time when she was busy with her duty. She was the daughter of the king and as such it was required that she fulfilled her obligations at such festivities.

Another moment passed and then Eragon sighed, turning to Rhunön. "I believe I shall leave now," said Eragon. He had stayed for a decent amount of time to be deemed courteous and by now, mostly everyone had seen him and Rhunön standing by each other observing their surroundings.

"Do as you will but do not forget to be at the forge by early morn tomorrow," said Rhunön eyeing him above her goblet. He nodded and after returning his goblet, made to exit the hall. However, his escape did not go unnoticed for the moment he was near the entrance to the hall, a hand reached out to take him by the shoulder followed by a familiar voice.

"If you would kindly spare me some of your time, Eragon," he froze on the spot as Oromis's voice washed over him. In his desire to leave, he had forgotten that his master was present as well as Glaedr and how they were the reasons he wanted to avoid appearing at such festivities. Taking in a deep breath, Eragon turned as Oromis withdrew his hand and gazed upon the Cripple Who Is Whole. He appeared as Eragon remembered. His hair was silver and he was old beyond measure, but his age was not comparable to Rhunön's, who was one of the most aged elves in all of Du Weldenvarden. He gazed at his master hoping that nothing gave away the emotions that were coursing through him.

Oromis was one of the first to have accepted Eragon for who he was. Rather than mistrusting him and treating him like a snake within their midst, Oromis had shown him kindness like no one else and had accepted his past and his faults as well as his desire to be better. Despite the different times, Eragon would forever remain grateful to his master. He blinked before raising his hand to touch his lips. "Atra esterní ono thelduin," greeted Eragon.

Oromis touched his own two lips and returned the gesture and when they were done with their greetings, he spoke, "I have wanted to see you for some time now," said Oromis with a smile, "But it appears as if the both of us are rather busy with our own obligations."

"I apologize for making you wait so long," said Eragon. He did feel remorse at causing Oromis to wait twelve years to see him. He was sure that the past twelve years had been harsh for his master seeing as he had to acquaint himself to living as a cripple now when he used to be whole. He remembered how ill Oromis appeared at certain lessons and how sometimes his seizures overwhelmed him to the point that he could not participate in a certain day's lesson. Did it bother Oromis? He would have thought him to be bitter about his situation but as Eragon remembered him, he was still his kind and wise master.

"It is of little concern," said Oromis, his eyes piercing into Eragon's as if he was trying to discern who he really was. "If you do not mind my forthright, Eragon, but I would like to speak with you. I have heard word that during your stay in Ellesméra that you have done little else but devote your time to Rhunön's forge and your study under her."

"I have," said Eragon allowing Oromis to lead him to a secluded corner away from the festivities. Somewhat reluctant, Eragon took a seat beside Oromis on the wooden bench that curved out form the wall and waited for the older elf to speak. It was long in coming but when he did, Eragon was hesitant as to what Oromis could possibly want to speak to him about.

"I heard word from Evandar Könungr that Galbatorix is the reason why your dragon is no longer with you," said Oromis, turning his head to pin Eragon with a kind stare. Hoping against hope that Oromis would not delve too deeply into the matter, Eragon merely nodded wanting for some excuse for the conversation to end. If only he had left earlier or noticed that something was amiss he would not be here. Though he did not like his master's company, he was too anxious that Oromis or perhaps even Glaedr might see through his words. "It is another atrocity that he has committed against our brethren."

"I am glad that you and your dragon are alive despite my loss though," said Eragon truthfully as his eyes darted to Glaedr whose scales were a staking contrast against the white of the snow. Oromis's eyes flickered to Glaedr before returning to Eragon.

"I am glad as well and our disabilities are small prices to pay for we are the only free Rider and Dragon alive," said Oromis sadly. "While you and Brom are the only Riders who have survived the war and the loss of your dragons. It must have been difficult for you, Eragon."

He did not respond hoping his silence said enough. And it did for Oromis did not press him into speaking. Another moment passed before Eragon spoke, "No harder than it must have been for you," he faltered before gathering his courage to continue speaking. He knew that Oromis would not take his words offensively unlike the other elves if they heard him. "Your disabilities…it must pain you greatly."

"Some days," said Oromis quietly appearing momentarily stricken before it was passed. "But I have learned to live with it. The result of war never leaves one whole, Eragon, whether it is physically or mentally. There is always a scar to be imparted and those who carry those scars carry it for their entire lives."

"I understand," agreed Eragon. But his thoughts bordered a darker train of thought that he had come to accept long ago. _Once a killer, always a killer. _Killing did not bother him. Not in the slightest but some days, he could not help but wonder at how many lives he had taken. It was by no means a small number. Perhaps he should have some sort of remorse thought Eragon as he mused quietly. Then again, they had also sought to kill him. It was only fair that he returned the favor.

"Have you been enjoying your stay here at Ellesméra?" asked Oromis and Eragon was glad that the elf had decided to leave the subject of war scars for another matter if not leaving the topic altogether.

"It is very peaceful here," said Eragon honestly. "If I do not pay close attention to my surroundings I am afraid time will pass me by. One could become accustomed to merely closing themselves to the world outside of Du Weldenvarden to pursue their own passions in their solitude."

"It is often that most elves do," said Oromis with a nod. "And is your passion in metalwork?"

"It is an interesting craft," Eragon turned his head and spotted Rhunön speaking to Arya now and wondered what the two elves could be speaking of. Then remembering that Oromis was waiting for him to explain himself, he tore his attention away from Arya to elaborate. "I never saw myself as a smith but I could not help but want to learn beneath Rhunön-elda. I believe our personalities are well fit else, she would have abandoned my apprenticeship long ago."

"Rhunön is different," said Oromis with a faint smile. "She was once an apprentice herself long ago. Rhunön first learned her craft from Fûthark, a legendary grimstborith of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum clan. You are the first apprentice she has ever taken under her wing and have caused quite a stir amongst the others who all know how short Rhunön can be with anything else apart from her work. It is a great feat in of itself to learn under her, one of our best smiths to have ever plied her work."

"It is always an honor to know that," said Eragon as he turned to Oromis. Then he tentatively asked his next question. "Do you plan on staying within Ellesméra for the rest of your days, Oromis-elda?" Though he already knew the answer to his questions, he wanted a reply from Oromis so that he could confirm just like how he did with Arya, that Oromis was still who Eragon remembered to be, that he had not changed his master through his own actions.

"Aye that I do," said Oromis, his aged face taking on a somber expression. "Many sorrows exist in this world, Eragon, and one of the greatest is being unable to help those in pain. I cannot risk leaving this sanctuary, for if I had died before one of Galbatorix's eggs has hatched, one of his three that he had managed to rescue, then there would be no one to pass on our secrets to the new Rider, and it would only serve to make it even harder to defeat Galbatorix. It is my duty as the last of the elders of our order to protect our secrets and our knowledge so that I may one day pass it on."

"It is understandable," said Eragon with a nod of his head. He had thought as much of Oromis and was glad that his master had not proven him wrong when he went to answer him.

"In any case, Glaedr and I cannot fight. Glaedr has his disability, and I," he touched the side of his head, "I am also maimed. The Forsworn broke something within me when I was their captive, and while I can still teach and learn, I can no longer control magic, except for the smallest of spells. The power escapes me, no matter how much I struggle. I would be worse than useless in battle, I would be a weakness and a liability, one who could easily be captured and used against our allies. And even though I yearn to openly oppose Galbatorix and his Forsworn, I lack the strength to."

"You are not weak Oromis-elda," protested Eragon saddened that his master would think so little of himself.

"I am not blind to what I have become Eragon," said Oromis softly with a smile. "But I thank you nonetheless for your consoling words." Then after a moment, he gestured to Eragon. "And what of you? From what you have told me thus far, I believe that you intend to pursue other matters apart from your apprenticeship beneath Rhunön."

"When the time is I right, I plan to travel to Surda and join with the rebel group that Brom has created," said Eragon with a slight frown. "Galbatorix has managed to destroy the remains of the Broddring Kingdom in the last twelve years to create the core of his Empire and I have heard word that what remains of Vroengard as well as the lands east and south to his holdings have been conquered as well. There is much work to do if we hope to move against Galbatorix. I shall not sit idly by."

"As expected of a Rider betrayed by what was once his comrade," said Oromis with a nod. A minute of silence passed between the two of them before Oromis stood as if sensing that the conversation between them was coming to an end. "It was a pleasure speaking with you Eragon. I can only hope that we shall meet again in the future that is to come and if we are not fortunate enough, then let me wish you luck and fortune on your journey whenever you decide to depart."

Eragon stood as well and paid his respect to the elf before saying his farewells. Oromis merely acknowledged him with a smile before he turned and left merging once more with the revelers. Staring in the direction of his master, Eragon sighed reaching up with a hand to rub his face. He felt a slight headache making its way to the forefront. It hurt to try and think of one person as two different people. He did not even know what to believe anymore. Had he really met Arya in Gil'ead? Or had he met her in Rhunön's forge? The same question could be said of Oromis. Which ones were the real ones to him now? The ones from his memory? The ones whom he knew and understood? Or the ones that stood before him? It was all so confusing.

Rubbing his temple slightly, Eragon turned to leave but stopped once more when he heard someone call to him. He turned surprised to find Arya making her way to him. "Arya Dröttningu," Eragon glanced over her head trying to see if anyone was seeking her presence but it appeared as if she was unoccupied at the moment. "I had thought you were busy speaking to the other elves."

"I was," said Arya with a nod. "But the matter is done." Her eyes flickered to his expression and how tired he appeared. "Are you feeling well, Eragon?"

"I am," Eragon reassured her, feeling pleased that she was concerned enough to ask him about his health. "It is but a mere headache. Perhaps a good rest shall cure me."

She frowned slightly and once more a crease appeared between her brows showing that she was bothered by something. She did not speak of it however but instead asked him, "How are you enjoying the winter feast? Is it to your liking?"

"It is very…festive," said Eragon trying the best he could to give a meaningful description to the event. "However, I believe it is time that I retire for the day."

She smiled slightly as if amused by his words, "But you have yet to enjoy yourself in a dance."

"Perhaps another time," said Eragon shaking his head. He blinked when she tilted her head up towards him and then she turned beckoning him to follow her. Eragon did so watching as she moved to the edge of the center before holding her hand out to him. He stared at her fingers not comprehending what it was that she wanted him to do. A few seconds passed before realization struck him. She was asking for him to dance with her. He tore his eyes away from her fingers for a moment to glance at the other spinning elves as they danced about each other. He knew he could move with as much grace as any elf could but he was reluctant.

Glancing back at her emerald eyes, however, he felt his heart pound and before he knew it, he had reached up and took her hand allowing her to guide him out to the center. She glanced at him for a moment, moving her feet elegantly to the side, stepping away from him and in following in line with the dance, he moved about her, his heart pounding in his chest as he felt the soft skin of her hand on his. She blinked once at him and it was all he needed as he began to dance with Arya. It was as if they had danced many times before thought Eragon as he circled about her lithe form. In truth, he had danced with Arya many times before and doing so once more only brought back a great warmth within him. But she had never danced with him despite his memories of them twirling about each other during the Agaetí Blödhren and Roran's wedding.

As they danced, the tempo to which the quartet played bringing them apart only to return them to each other, he could not help but feel at ease. Off to the side, he caught sight of Rhunön staring at him once more with her curious expression but he made no thought of it as he took Arya's hand in his and easily danced about her watching as she smiled, showing her strong white teeth.

It was in that moment when he chanced a glance at her emerald eyes did he find himself frozen, forever remembering Arya's expression. Within time, her joyous expression would fade to be replaced with a stoic mask and her beautiful personality buried underneath years of practiced indifference. Though he fell in love with the Arya that was aloof and oftentimes uncaring, he could not help but wish that Arya would stay as pure and as innocent as she was before him. But he knew that was not so for when the day came that she dared stepped outside the safety of Du Weldenvarden, she was going to be exposed to the nightmare of the world about them.

And he could only hope that he would be there for her so that she could rely on him. They spun about each other once more and unbidden by him a faint smile stretched across his lips as he caught sight of the sparkle in her emerald eyes. He would forget in this one moment about his duty, about his life now and his past life and he would only focus on the maiden before him. For her happiness would be short-lived when she came to realize her decision in life, she would relinquish it so that she could live out her purpose for that was Arya Dröttningu, in his time and in this one.

**And so the next chapter will have another time jump and it shall explain more of Eragon's and Arya's relationship to come and the possibilities that will lie in wait in the following chapters! So be anxious and waiting! If you are all confused don't forget to review or PM me and I shall try my best to alleviate and massive headaches that might occur thinking of this time travelling concept! ****Anyways, I hope to see you all soon!**


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**And now for the time jump once more. Now I shall answer some questions brought up in the reviews. 1) There are originally 13 Forsworn but in the fighting on Doru Araeba, one of the 13 was killed when Thuviel turned his flesh to magic. (Glaerun was killed in the explosion therefore leaving only 12-and I have interesting ideas regarding the Forsworn). 2) One person mentioned the belt of Beloth the **Wise...that** shall be explained later...3) Angela shall appear frequently in this story. Now with those questions explained onward to another chapter! R&R!**

The winter feast would be one of the many times in which he saw Arya. He had thought that she would merely attend to her own business after managing to force both he and Rhunön to attend the feast but she did not and it was evident when she came to visit him a week after while he was busy forging a helm, trying to utilize the knowledge he had learned thus far and give it physical representation. Stylizing the sides into pointed wings, he frowned as he took in his work. The helm was beautiful, more so than a regular helm. But there was something lacking about it that he bothered him.

Reaching out with his hands, he lifted the helm up turning it between his fingers as she tried to find exactly why it was he was so bothered by the helm. It was a far cry from Rhunön's work. But what did he expect? She had centuries in which to perfect her craft while he had only been learning for twelve years. Frowning, he sighed as he lowered the helm to the anvil dissatisfied with his work.

"Is there something amiss?"

He glanced up towards the source of the voice and felt his throat constrict and his heart start to pick up pace. Standing in the entryway into the open walled forge was Arya. There were flakes of snow on her cloaked shoulders and some dusting in her hair but she was exactly as Eragon had remembered her to be a week earlier. Remembering his mannerisms, he greeted her first and when they were done, she swept into the forge glancing around as if searching for something and when she did not find it, her eyes settled on him again.

"Is there something amiss?" Arya repeated.

He glanced down at the helm on the anvil and held it up for her to inspect. "I feel as if something is not right with the design," said Eragon as he watched her carefully study the helm in her hands. She stared at it for a long moment, her brows furrowed as she tried to see what it was that bothered him so much. Eventually, she handed the helm back to him.

"It is not shoddy work if that is what you are worried about," she said. He took the helm from her glad that she had approved of his work. It was not shoddy but it was not to elven standards yet, he was sure of that.

Placing the helm to the side to worry about later, he then brought forth his unfinished statue of Saphira to devote his time with. Grabbing a chisel and hammer from Rhunön's many tools, he turned to Arya curiously. "Is there something you needed?" asked Eragon wondering why she had come to seek him out once more. There couldn't be another feast that required his presence was there? Or perhaps another event of some sort that he needed attend else he would look ignorant?

He was worried about the possibilities until Arya spoke once more, "I was hoping that perhaps," she paused trying to gather her words and Eragon paused looking at her waiting for what she had to say. Then seemingly gathering her strength, she strengthened and said in a calm voice, "I was hoping that I could speak with you more about your time as a Dragon Rider."

He blinked in surprise at her words. He was not expecting her question nor did he expect her interest to be so great. Perhaps he was correct in believing that Arya had always wanted a life greater than what was given to her in the confines of Du Weldenvarden. Forgetting about the statue that rested on the anvil for a moment, he held her gaze trying to find something within her eyes that showed that the Arya he knew was still there, that she still existed. After a moment, Eragon nodded.

"If you would like to hear, I would not be bothered to tell you," said Eragon as a faint smile pulled at her lips. He glanced at the anvil. There was still several hours left before he was done with his work for the day in the forge. Contemplating what to do, Eragon glanced back at Arya.

She titled her head as she studied him, "I am not bothered to wait," she said resolving the situation for him. Glad that he did not have to turn her away, he motioned for her to take a seat on the bench on the opposite side of the workbench while he stood and worked. She did not bother him but did as he motioned which surprised him since he always knew Arya to be prideful and stubborn. Shaking away his nervousness at having Arya watch him as he worked, he picked up his hammer and chisel and began to shave away at the metal to continue carving the likeness of Saphira.

And for the coming nine years, Arya would come to him on days when she was not busy and speak to him. He had always thought that one day perhaps her answers might run dry or she would simply be satisfied with the answers that he gave her but those days never came. She always came back despite how annoyed Rhunön would end up whenever she caught sight of Arya within the forge. But the aged elf-smith never said a word for Arya did not come to bother but merely sit and observe. Eventually when Eragon's skills in metalwork began to show a side of expertise to them, she had begun to show him some suggestions particularly in an aesthetic view.

While he enjoyed his time spent with Arya whether it was a day in the week or simply an hour in day, he also enjoyed the opportunity to see her blossom into a beautiful person. Though the radiance of her youth began to fade away, there still was a stunning beauty to her that always left him dazed when he found himself staring too long at her. What was more was how wise she was beginning to become. Eighty years from now, she would become the wisest person he knew aside from Oromis and a select few others. Despite her still rather tender age in elven culture, Arya was very knowledgeable and intelligent.

However, what struck him the most was her curiosity and eagerness in the world about her. From the moment he had met her for the first time nine years ago, she had shown a great interest in the world about her and it only became clear to him when she began to ask him about his travels that she longed to see the rest of Alagaësia. Though he tried to fulfill her curiosity, he knew that there were some things that only she could find for herself. It was like Arya had said to him in his past, she was eager to explore and strike against Galbatorix. It appeared that Galbatorix's existence as well as his crimes against the Order and the races of Alagaësia were reason enough for Arya to want to pursue a future outside the forest.

While she was busy contemplating her own decision, Eragon was also preparing to leave Du Weldenvarden. Brom had finally given the mantle of leader to Weldon four years earlier after having led the Varden for only seven years so that he could chase after his heart's only desire as of presently: the death of the Forsworn, particularly Morzan. From what he heard, the Varden was now a stable force within the Beor Mountains after having moved from Surda to further themselves even more from Galbatorix and his Forsworn. In any case, it was time that he made his decision and join in the on the fighting. It had been a long twenty-one years in which he had sat idly by doing nothing but learning the craft of forging. Though he had come to enjoy spending his time in the forge crafting numerous objects from armor to weapons to beautiful sculptures, it was enough.

And that was why on one spring day, Eragon made his decision. Lowering the dagger that he was grinding to a fine point, Eragon turned to Rhunön as she was busy crafting gauntlets. He paused as he took in her appearance. Like Eragon, Rhunön was untouched by the twenty-one years that had passed. She appeared exactly as he had remembered her. The only passage of time were the numerous works that began to appear in her forge, a part of them belonged to Eragon while the majority were the works of Rhunön.

A moment passed and when she realized he was not working, she straightened from her hunched position over the anvil. The hammer in her hand was lowered as she stared at Eragon with a frown. "What is it?" she asked not bothering to be polite. Eragon smiled inwardly, glad once more by how blunt Rhunön was.

"There is a matter I wish to speak to you about Master Rhunön," said Eragon quietly and seriously. She blinked at him moving to lower her work tools but he shook his head. He did not want to hinder her work on account of himself, instead he said, "It can wait until we are done in the forge though. There is no need for you to stop on my account."

"Nonsense," said Rhunön with a scowl as she returned her tools to their rightful places in her forge. "I was ready to retire for the evening in any case." Highly doubting her words, Eragon could only nod as he went to mimic her as cleaned up the workbench. If there was one thing that Rhunön managed to impart to him over the years, it was the necessity of having an orderly forge. Understanding that necessity, Eragon had worked long and hard to adapt his ways in trying to keep orderly.

When the last of the tools were stowed away, the two of them retired to her humble house for Eragon to cook supper. Today, Arya had not come by. Slightly disappointed by the lack of her presence, he merely shook it from him. He had seen her quite frequently over the past nine years, it would not do him well to become dependent on her presence. After all, he was leaving soon and Arya would only join him in another decade's time. He doubted he would see her much the moment he decided to step outside of Du Weldenvarden. A great part of him feared that the moment he left, she would lose interest in the events occurring in Alagaësia. It was Eragon's only hope that she would remain curious and eager until the day she decided to take up the yawë and devote herself to her people.

Making a light supper for them that day which consisted of bread, soup, and fruits and vegetables with berries being the predominant ingredient, he took his seat before Rhunön. Lifting up his spoon, he began to eat his soup while she instead started to break apart her bread to eat. "Now what is it that you wanted to speak with me about?" asked Rhunön with narrowed eyes as if she was expecting foul news from him.

He paused as he went to scoop up another spoonful of soup. Brows furrowing for a moment as he tried to think of what to say, he decided that there was no other way for him to say it and instead he spoke rather forwardly. "I believe that it was time for me to leave Master Rhunön," said Eragon softly, his eyes focused on her face so that he could clearly see her reaction to his news.

She blinked, her eyes widening slightly to show her surprise before she schooled it into her usual scowl. "And abandon your apprenticeship?" asked Rhunön with her raspy voice. Eragon shook his head.

"Of course not," Eragon promised her sincerely. "Wherever my duties leads me, I shall always do my utmost to better my skills in forging. I shall not forget what you have thought me over the years and I shall always be grateful to Master Rhunön…but I believe now is the time that I take up my duties rather than turn away from them. I have had twenty-one years to sit idly by pursuing what interests me. That is enough time."

"And what is your duty?" asked Rhunön with hard eyes. He knew that her question was not to delve into his reasoning for leaving but to see whether or not he had the passion to commit himself to the long years that his duties would lead him to. If only she understood how long he waited so that he could finally come out of hiding and face Galbatorix even if it was not directly.

"As one of the remaining Riders left behind from the Fall, it is my duty to fight against Galbatorix and his Forsworn—to fight against his corrupt Empire," said Eragon, his hand clenching his spoon with great strength but he was forced to remind himself not to crush the delicate utensil within his hands, it would be a waste. "It is my duty to the fallen Order, to my loved ones, and to those who cannot fight but can only be swept away by their fate."

Rhunön did not say anything to his words but he saw a shine in her eyes as if she were proud of his words but it was gone as quick as he saw it and he doubted that he actually did see any sort of emotion in her aged irises. After a long moment, she sighed as she lowered the remainder of her bread to the plate. Then she reached for her spoon and quietly began to eat her soup.

A long time passed before she spoke once more, her voice somber, "I had always thought that there was a passion in you that was never made for forging," said Rhunön. "Though you excelled in learning, it appeared as if your soul longed to be elsewhere and now I understand." She paused before her eyes flickered to him and away from her soup momentarily. "You and Brom are very similar, the last two Riders robbed of their dragons and now seeking revenge for what was lost two decades ago."

At the mention of the comparison between him and Brom, his father, Eragon tensed afraid that Rhunön might have made a connection between the two of them. But she did not say more on the matter of Brom and instead continued, "The world Eragon is not like forging and yet in some aspects it is," said Rhunön as she pinned Eragon with a hard stare. "When we are given something that we are not satisfied with, we can take it and heat it, bend it, and weld it into our liking. That is forging. If you were to given me a block of steel, I shall in turn make it into the finest armor one can lay their eyes on. The same principal can be said of the world. You are given what fate deems to give you and it is your decision to how you want to apply it. Whether you use it for the better or the worst, the decision rest slowly upon your shoulders."

She paused and the crease between her brows deepened. "However, there are laws that nature has set that no being can go against, mortal or not. While smiths, when dissatisfied with the work they craft, can merely rework the unwanted product into something better, the same cannot be said for the workings of the world. There will be choices that you will have to make and even if you are unhappy with the outcomes, it is nigh impossible to redo it. That is why that when the time comes for you to leave, Eragon, you will understand a greater part of life apart from this forest and the forge in which you have been dedicating the past twenty-one years to."

While she spoke, he could not help but feel moved by her words and how they rang true and deep within him. Rhunön understood the workings of the world just as well as he did but a deeper meaning to her worlds struck a chord within him. She did not think much of second chances. No one thought much of second chances. And yet, here he was defying fate, defying nature for a second chance to redo things, to rework the fabric of history and of his reality eighty years from now. How would she feel if she found out that he was defying laws that she came to learn of herself in her life? Like always, it always made him anxious when he thought of their reactions to finding out the truth about him. Would Oromis look down on him? Would Rhunön scoff and turn her back? And most importantly, would Arya resent him?

The thought of it all just hurt too much so he pushed the feelings aside as he had been doing for the past twenty-one years and instead focused on Rhunön. "I shall keep your words deep in my heart," said Eragon as he held her gaze. "I will make sure that whatever I am given that I shall use it to the fullest. I…I will try to live without regrets." Unlike his original time, he had many regrets in his life and given this second chance, he would try to see to it that he would not hold any regrets. Regrets, Eragon came to understand, burdened the soul too strongly. It was almost impossible to escape when one was trapped in its icy grips.

She did not say anything else for the time being and when they were done eating and Eragon was making to return to Tialdarí Hall did she speak once more. "When is it that you shall depart?" asked Rhunön.

"As soon as I can once I have informed Evandar Könungr of my decision, I still must pay him and his house my respects and gratitude for allowing me asylum in Ellesméra," said Eragon suddenly feeling a profound sadness well up within him. He was not surprised to find himself already missing Rhunön's presence in his life. For the past two decades, she had been his companion in the forest of Ellesméra when he had none to find a companion in. Their odd eccentricities set them apart from others as well as their bluntness in speech and attitude. It would be hard to find another companion like Rhunön within the Varden for they would be short-lived humans or staunch and proud dwarves. He did not think he would be able to manage himself well with either race but he was going to try his best now that he thought about how lonely the years to come would be.

"I see," she withdrew into silence once more only to say a few minutes later in a stern voice, "That does not excuse you from coming to the forge to continue your apprenticeship. I shall only let you rest once the day comes that you shall depart from Ellesméra."

"Of course," he smiled slightly. He expected nothing less from Rhunön. Bidding her farewell, he turned and left. But as he did so he could not help but glance back at Rhunön watching as she took to the stairs of her house to the second landing. _She will be fine, _thought Eragon to himself, _she has lived without company for centuries. _Though he tried to reassure himself, he could not help but feel worried.

Trying to shake the thought from his mind as he walked through the brisk spring evening, Eragon sighed. He had never thought he would admit it but he was going to miss the beauty and serenity of the forest. There was a tranquility to Ellesméra that made it appear as if nothing was happening outside its boundaries. Yet, despite the atmosphere he could never find it in himself to fully enjoy his surroundings for he was constantly worried about the future. And now he was even more worried for his time to act had finally come. No longer was he going to sit and wait.

Taking in a deep breath, he continued to weave in and out between the trees towards Tialdarí Hall. As usual, he never made any point to wander about Ellesméra for he was usually tired by the end of his lessons with Rhunön and as natural to him, he was privy of his sleep. Approaching the archway, he waited for it to admit him entrance and when it did, he swept through. While he was making his way towards the common room, Eragon blinked as he caught sight of Evandar speaking with Islanzadí in the gardens, the two of them were observing the bloom of the flowers.

Seeing a chance for him to speak to the king about his thoughts, Eragon paused and after a brief moment of contemplation he strode forward. When he was within a few paces of the elf-king, Evandar glanced up at his approach and smiled in welcome while Islanzadí merely regarded him with curious eyes as if to see what it was that he could possibly want to interrupt her time with her mate. Stopping before the two of them, Eragon greeted them first showing the respect that was demanded from him. Once the traditional greetings were said and done, Evandar's gray eyes pierced him as he spoke.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence Eragon?" asked Evandar. "It is late and I believe that your lessons with Rhunön are finished for the day?"

"They are," confirmed Eragon. "I was returning from my lessons with her when fortune favored me." At a quirk of the king's brow, Eragon elaborate. "I was wishing to speak to you, Your Majesty. I had thought that perhaps I would have to enquire to an audience with you."

"There is no need for such for the both of us are here," said Evandar raising his hand to dismiss Eragon's worries. "Now what is it that you have need of my presence so urgently?"

Trying to find the right words to speak but failing, he decided to trust in his bluntness this time around. Sometimes there were matters that could not be spoken lightly. He was going to have to concede to that train of thought. "I have come to a decision as to what I wish to do with my life," said Eragon holding his ground to show to Evandar and Islanzadí that he would not easily relent. "I wish to leave Du Weldenvarden and join with the Varden in their struggles against Galbatorix."

In response to his words, King Evandar merely stared at him with interest while Islanzadí was gazing at him with apparent surprise. It was obvious that she had not thought that one day, Eragon would seek to step outside of the safeties of Ellesméra and face Galbatorix and his Forsworn once more. He may have acted placid for twenty-one years but that would end now. Enough was enough.

"And you are steadfast in your decision?" asked Evandar.

"Aye," Eragon nodded and he bowed to the two of to show his utmost respect for them. While they were also Arya's parents, Evandar was the one who had given him refugee in Ellesméra. The king had trusted Eragon on his actions alone and that was enough to earn Eragon's respect. And over the years he'd lived in Evandar's domain, he had come to see how fit of a king Evandar truly was. He was fair to his subjects and yet kind and generous despite his stern exterior. "I sought to see you, Your Majesty, so that I may express my gratitude to you for allowing me to stay as a guest of your house."

"And so you stayed as my guest but only due to your actions," said Evandar. "Had you not saved me back on the plains of Urû'baen, I would not be here to grant you asylum. It is fit repayment for what you have done for me and my people. Never forget that Eragon. Time does not wash away deeds, they only serve to cement it."

"Even so, you have been most kind to me," insisted Eragon as he straightened. "If there is any way that I may repay you, you have but to ask it of me and I shall see to it that I can. Yet, I doubt that there is little that I can give you."

"Your words are repayment enough," acknowledged Evandar kindly, his gray eyes peering at Eragon with a sense of approval. "You have finally sought out what it is that you desire. I can only say that it heartens me to know that someone of your fortitude and strength shall be joining in the fight against Galbatorix."

"I am humbled by your praise," murmured Eragon.

"When shall you leave Eragon-finiarel?" asked Islanzadí gazing at him with her dark emerald eyes. Eragon's eyes flickered to her as he thought of an answer to her question. He could leave in the early morn but a part of him did not want to leave yet. Not until he had a chance to see Arya once more. He would like an opportunity to say his farewell to her.

"By the end of this week," said Eragon giving himself three days to prepare for his journey to depart.

Evandar and Islanzadí exchanged startled looks. "So soon?" asked Evandar with a frown.

"There is no reason to tarry any more than I have these past years," said Eragon with a nod. "If I do not leave now, I shall never know if I will have the strength to do so later. I hope you would forgive me in my haste."

"It is forgiven," said Evandar once more showing to Eragon how kind of a king he could be. The three of them stood there for a moment before Islanzadí spoke next.

"If you would allow us Eragon-finiarel, we would like to give you're a steed to ride until you reach the outskirts of Du Weldenvarden and the needed provisions for your journey to the Beor Mountains," she turned to Evandar and once more Eragon began to think that they were speaking to each other in the depths of their mind. He fought the urge to frown. For twenty-one years, he dared not open his mind to another and in that solitude of time, it was odd to think of doing so once more.

"You are too kind," Eragon replied in responses to Islanzadí's offer. She nodded, pleased by his words.

Evandar regarded him for a moment longer before he gestured towards the common room. "It is late and I believe that you wish to prepare for your journey Eragon. You may leave without any worries of us delaying your nor of repayment for our kindness."

"Thank you," he bid them farewell and did as Evandar said returning to the quarters in which he had lived in for twenty-one years to prepare for his trip. But truth be told, there was not much to prepare seeing as he did not have that much in his possession to begin with. But that night was one of the first in which he felt the sudden excitement of finally returning to his one purpose in life that he only knew: the defeat of Galbatorix. There was a great deal of anxiety that accompanied his excitement though for he would be alone in his fight. He would be struggling against a tide so fierce that it might suffocate him in the end.

_If father can do it, so can I, _thought Eragon determined. Brom had managed to personally kill three of the Forsworn, including the most powerful, Morzan, and had arranged the deaths of five others. His father fought a war without strength but his intelligence and knowledge, the latter being one that Eragon possessed greatly.

_There was no reason to be deterred by the future._

Believing in his thoughts, Eragon decided to retire for the day. He was tired enough. The following morning, he did as Rhunön asked and returned to the forge. The two of them worked as if it were any normal day. They did not mention his leaving but rather continued his apprenticeship as if he was going to live the rest of his life out in Ellesméra. Glad for her tact, he was still disappointed when he saw no sight of Arya at the forge that day. Perhaps she was busy. The disappointment soon turned to a longing when the next day came and she had not yet shown. With a heavy heart, he made his way back to Tialdarí Hall.

But rather than returning to his chambers, he instead made his way to the gardens. Navigating through the innumerous amounts of flowerbeds, he came to a stop by the white rose bush taking in the flowers as they bloomed in the spring time. They were truly beautiful thought Eragon as he reached out to let his fingers glide over the petals. Staring at them, he felt a sudden sadness well up within him. He was leaving. He was once more leaving what he came to know for else. It was upsetting and yet overwhelming.

_Come to think of it,_ thought Eragon as he finger a rose petal, _I have lived in this time longer than my own. How odd it is to think of it as such._

Blinking to himself, he sighed. With one last look at the white roses, he straightened ready to return to his quarters. Tomorrow he would leave Ellesméra. Turning to leave, Eragon blinked when he caught sight of Arya making her way from deep within the compound towards the entrance. When she caught sight of him, she blinked faltering in her path. Did she know he was leaving?

His question was answered when she changed directions. Instead of moving to leave, she turned and made her way over to him. Rather than wearing a kirtle of ebony laced with emerald as she did when he last saw her, she was wearing a tunic of rustic emerald cinched at the waist with a golden sash that made the attire look feminine.

When she was directly before him, Eragon touched his two fingers to his lips. She returned the gesture. "Where was it that you were heading?" asked Eragon curiously when they were finished. She blinked and he thought he saw a tinge of embarrassment on her face before it was gone. What could that have possibly been?

"It matters not now," said Arya as she gazed upon him. He could only stare back feeling his heart pound in his chest. No matter how many times he gazed upon Arya, he would always feel tremendously for her. He raised a brow at her but nodded, leaving the matter. She glanced at him and the white rose bush and raised a brow curiously. "Your favorite?"

Eragon nodded. "They mean much to me."

As he expected she did not question him any further on the meaning white roses held to Eragon and he was glad that she didn't. He was unsure of how he would have responded to her. The two of them stood in silence merely observing the flowers but he did not complain for it gave him the chance to commit Arya's appearance to heart, not that it was difficult for him to do so. But as he stared at her, a great part of him longed for his Arya. Over the nine years it had become increasingly difficult to think of little else apart from Arya as he remembered her. He wanted to view them as the same person but it was too difficult.

"I heard word that you are leaving tomorrow," said Arya quietly.

"I am," affirmed Eragon. "I believe that I have stayed far too long."

"It is not as if you are unwelcomed here," murmured Arya causing Eragon to smile.

"No it is not, Evandar Könungr has been very generous," agreed Eragon watching as slight hint of pride entered Arya's eyes. If there was one thing he learned over the nine years of speaking with Arya, it was that she greatly admired her father. It was endearing in a way. "But it will bode ill of me if I overdid my stay."

"You are leaving to join the Varden?"

"Yes, I have decided that now is the time for me to fight," said Eragon. "It is my duty to those who have fallen under Galbatorix…to the whole of Alagaësia."

Her emerald eyes narrowed and he could tell that she was thinking over his words trying to make sense of them in the context of her own life. Whether or not she would act, it would take time for Arya to come to her decision. "Is it merely because of duty?"

"A great part of it is," said Eragon quietly as he turned to stare at the white roses. Then he reached down and gently plucked one from the rose bush. With magic, he began to remove its thorns. When he was done, he lifted it up to gaze at underneath the dim light of the flameless lanterns. "The forest of Du Weldenvarden is beautiful without a doubt but I want to see more of the world. I want to see the rest of Alagaësia aside from the luscious pines here. In this world, Arya, there are flaming waters, frosty lands, and stone forests. There exist a world with many sights to behold and yet to be beholden. And the person to behold all of these sights will become the freest person in the world." He took a deep breath breathing in the scent of crushed pine needles as he turned to Arya with a soft smile. "We are born to this world and it is our right that we are allowed to see the sights that it can give to us. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise."

In his speaking, he had taken a step closer to Arya so that he could gaze down at her. If he took two steps closer he could wound his arms about her and pull her into an embrace but he did not for he did not have that right, not with this Arya. Instead, he permitted himself to stare at Arya taking in her contemplative expression and her blazing emerald eyes.

"I think…that perhaps I understand how you feel," said Arya softly as she tilted her head up to pin him under her stare.

He nodded, fidgeting for a moment before he slowly held the white rose in his hand out to her. Her expression soon turned to surprise. "I hope you will accept this white rose," said Eragon quietly, "as a symbol of our friendship over the past nine years."

The surprise slowly faded away to show a smile as she reached out to take the rose from him her soft fingers brushing against his hand causing tingles to race up his arm. He watched as she gently held the rose, lifting it up to smell. "Thank you, I am glad to call you my friend, Eragon," he could only smile at her as she lowered the white rose. "These past nine years, your stories alone have created a world that I long to see."

"And perhaps you will," said Eragon watching as her eyes shined.

"Perhaps I will," said Arya. She paused before asking, "Before you leave tomorrow, will you indulge me in another story of your travels?"

"If you are not busy then I shall," said Eragon, "And I hope that when the time comes that I return to Du Weldenvarden that I may have more stories to tell you."

As they went to find the common room so that they could speak, Eragon could not help put glance at the white rose in her hand and back to the garden that lacked Black Morning Glories. For some reason, despite the pleasure of knowing that he had been no doubt one of the few first to offer Arya a flower—a sign of great importance in elven tradition—he could not help but feel upset. Had it not been for Alagaësia, Fäolin would have been the first to have given her flowers and to have sung her a bed of Black Morning Glories. The importance of his gifts to Arya were not lost on Eragon but he was glad that he had yet to see any of the black flowers that Arya cherished in his future.

However, when the day came that they did appear in the gardens he did not know what he would do. Unwilling to think about it, he turned back to Arya as he followed her his eyes wandering to the white rose that she held in her hands. For now though, she had accepted his white rose and that was enough.

**There are several reasons as to why I skipped over the nine years of Eragon bonding with Arya, one being that it was difficult to write OC Arya, and my second biggest reason shall be explained in the chapters to come. However, we are finally picking up pace. Eragon is finally leaving for the Varden and things are going to get **real...In** any case I'm excited especially for when Eragon will eventually meet Angela, Rosalie, and a member of the **Forsworn...Oh** the liberty of having great freedom when it comes to the Forsworn apart from Morzan! I can't wait to write the chapters to come! Anyways, I hope to see you all soon!**


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**It took longer than usual but here is the next chapter everyone. Enjoy! R&R!**

Glancing about, Eragon sighed taking in the lush pine trees once more. He did not know when time would allow him to return to Ellesméra for there was too much to be done with the Varden. Riding atop the proud stallion that Islanzadí had ordered to be prepared for him, he thought back to early morn when he went to depart from Ellesméra. He had not expected to be seen off personally but he was by Rhunön as well as Evandar Könungr and his family, including Arya. As he rode atop the noble, white stallion by the name of Beren, he could not help but recall his parting words with those whom he came to know.

"Dressed as you are, you resemble more of a warrior than a smith," said Rhunön as she regarded Eragon with narrowed eyes. Rather than wearing a tunic, he wore a light colored jerkin and dark hosen pants with drawstrings. A belt was strapped about his waist to hold Brisingr against his left hip while Vrangr was strapped to his back. On his hands he wore dark leather gloves that matched the leather boots that King Evandar's house gifted to him for his journey.

"I shall take that as a compliment," said Eragon with a smile as Rhunön merely grunted as if she could care less how he perceived her words and perhaps she didn't. In any case, all Eragon could do was smile at her, he did not want to be short with Rhunön on his leave taking. There was no room for his foul personality despite the earliness of the day. He did not want to leave on a sour note. "In any case, I do not believe I resemble the part of a smith well."

"Perhaps," Rhunön conceded to him. Her eyes flickered past him and towards the trees of Du Weldenvarden. "In any case, warrior or smith, you must be aware of your surroundings no matter where you are. Strange thinks lurk in the shadows, Eragon."

"I understand," he nodded, taking her word to heart. He was about to say more but then three figures appeared from behind the tremendous trunks of the pine trees and he felt his heart soar at the sight of Arya. When their eyes connected, she spared him a slight smile but it did not necessarily reach her eyes and for a moment Eragon was worried.

He waited until they stopped before him and he greeted them, once he was finished, Evandar nodded to him. "You look fit to travel," observed the king just as Rhunön had done moments earlier. "It is a fitting look for you."

"Thank you," said Eragon his eyes flickering away from Arya to rest on the elf-king. "And thank you for preparing Beren and the provisions for my travel. It shall make my journey from Du Weldenvarden to the Beor Mountains much easier."

"I have sent word of your arrival to the Varden so that they may not mistake you for an enemy," said Evandar. Eragon nodded once more voicing his gratitude. After exchanging a few words, Evandar turned to Islanzadí with a smile. She returned it slightly and then reached up to hand him a small object that Eragon could not make out. "There is a gift that I and my house would like to bestow upon you, Eragon." He opened his hand and held forth a ruby ring with the symbol of the yawë engraved in the stone. Eragon blinked recognizing the ring as the same one which Brom had worn when he had first met his father in his original time. "Because of the aid that you have rendered to my family, I now name you Elf Friend and bestow this ring, Aren, upon you, so that all elves, wherever you go, will know that you are to be trusted and helped. And so that when you desire it, you may always be granted entry into Ellesméra."

He stared at the ring in apparent shock as did Rhunön and Arya. The two of them had not expected the gesture of trust like Eragon did not expect. As he stared at the ruby ring, he could not help but feel an overwhelming sense of despair grip at him. The ring was meant for his father but he had taken away that right. A few seconds passed and not wanting to seem rude, Eragon bowed and accepted the ring with murmured words of gratitude. Then so that they may see, he slid the ring onto his left hand.

"It is a symbol that we have not used in centuries," explained Islanzadí at his still shocked expression. "For there are little to have proven themselves a friend of our race. Wear Aren with pride, Eragon-finiarel."

"I shall do as you say," promised Eragon feeling the weight of the ring on his finger. It would serve as a reminder for what once was and what will not be any longer. Trying to think of the world as it was, he felt a deep sense of loss within him.

Letting Beren lead the way through the thick pine trees and the different paths, he trusted the proud stallion and its sense of direction. It truly was a noble creature and Beren only served to remind him of Saphira who was more noble and intelligent than any other creature he had come across. The rest of the conversation with Evandar and Islanzadí was short but what caused the ache in his chest was the rather formal and short farewell that Arya bid him with. She had said a few words and had wished him good fortune on his journey, nothing more. It was not that he was expecting anything more from her especially since they were before her parents but it still stung. Had it been his Arya, she would have embraced him warmly and sweetly kissed him.

_You need to stop comparing them, _Eragon told himself fiercely. If he continued to think of them as two different people, it would only serve to confuse him even more.

Still, despite the short farewells, it touched him. Closing his eyes, he thought of the twenty-one years that he had lived in Ellesméra. Despite the great length of time he spent in the elven capital, it had never become a home to him. And now here he was once more wandering for the sake of duty. This Alagaësia was not his home anymore. At least not yet in any case.

Shaking the thought from his mind, he instead stared ahead as Beren galloped through the forest finding the safest and shortest route that would lead him out of Du Weldenvarden so that he could travel to the Beor Mountains.

Traveling for most of the day, Eragon only stopped when Beren needed rest. He did not want to overwork the white stallion and nor did he want to offend it by treating it like a slave to his bidding. Allowing Beren to graze on the grass, he went to set up camp for the night making sure not to make too bright of a fire to attract unwanted attention. And as he sat there, he took a moment to study Aren. His father wore Aren constantly during his time. He paused thinking of how Brom had once told him that for the past decade and some years, he had stowed away a tremendous amount of energy into the ruby of the ring.

He could possibly store energy into Aren if he deemed fit but over the past twenty-one years he had already been storing plenty of energy into the sapphires that adorned the pommels of both Brisingr and Vrangr. Staring at Aren for a moment longer, he nodded to himself. It would not hurt to store energy into Aren as well. It would certainly ease his tasks if he were to ever need to use the energy stored in his ruby ring. Thinking on it for a moment longer, Eragon sighed before stretching out on the ground to sleep. It had been quite a long day.

Sleep did not come easily and when it did, it barely felt as if he had closed his eyes for a few minutes before the insistent trilling songs of the mockingbirds nearby pulled him away. Used to waking early for the past twenty-one years, Eragon tiredly came to his feet pulling his left arm outward causing a feeling of relief to course through his left shoulder as he popped the muscle. He may have woken early for twenty-one years but that did not mean that he enjoyed doing so.

"Have you slept?" Eragon asked Beren. The white stallion was lying on the ground, curled up as it waited for him to ready for the day's traveling.

Beren merely snorted at his question before moving to his feet, tossing his head as if to tell Eragon that they had a long day of traveling ahead of them. Amused at the nobility of his steed, he began to pack up his things. As he moved to do so, there was a soft thud on the grass and he glanced down to find his glass orb with his rose embedded in it lying before him.

Reaching down, Eragon gently picked the glass orb up between his hands to study to the rose that was embedded inside. He thought about the rose and unbidden by him a memory so long ago washed back onto the surface of his mind.

_"There is a place I would like to show you once we invade the Empire," Eragon waited as Arya spoke, his mind at ease with her presence. "Murtagh and I found it and there is a gift awaiting you there."_

_"A gift?"_

_"Yes," she sat beside him. Eragon instinctively turned to her. Though he may be inexperienced in the areas of intimacy, lately his mind had instructed him in multiple ways on how to approach Arya. All of which seemed to work. He leaned forward to kiss her for a brief moment reminding himself of her exquisite taste before pulling away. Then she began to explain to him the spirits that came to her and Murtagh at night and the golden rose that was bestowed upon them out of their gratitude towards Eragon._

_"When we get the chance, I would like to show it to you."_

_"And I would like to see it."_

"I will never see it now," murmured Eragon as he turned the orb in his hand causing the rays of sunlight to become distorted about the glass object. After admiring it for a moment, Eragon sighed and carefully placed the glass orb in his saddle bags before saddling the bags onto Beren. Making sure that the stallion was comfortable, he easily mounted the horse.

"Ready?" asked Eragon patting the strong neck of the white stallion beneath him. Beren snorted. "Then let us depart." Immediately upon saying the command in the ancient language, Beren galloped off seemingly find his own way amongst the many trees before them. Trusting in the white stallion, Eragon could only let the noble horse guide him through Du Weldenvarden.

Alone in the solitude of his own mind and away from Ellesméra, he thought once more of his past life. The golden rose that Arya had once described to him no longer existed on Alagaësia. He would never be able to see it as he had once wished. Nothing of his past life remained anymore. There was no evidence to even show that he lived his life a hundred years from now. At times, he wondered if he was delusion. He saw two different worlds—two different halves of Alagaësia in which the same people lived but differently. He saw a vengeful Arya, a proud and dutiful Nasuada, a sacrificing Murtagh, an imperious Islanzadí, and much more. And now they were different. And then there was him, Eragon and no one else. He could not claim to be anything when his history had not happened.

His traveling to the Varden only served to reinforce the fact even more.

It was going to be odd not to see Nasuada as the leader of the Varden thought Eragon. In his view, his liege lord was a notable commander and a very capable leader. She understood how to lead and how to do so efficiently and effectively. There were times when there was a strain on the Varden but for the most part Nasuada's intelligence had helped bring the organization through. He remembered vividly how she managed to fund the war effort merely through the trade of lace. Truly, there was no one better fit to command the Varden and he knew that had he lived on in his original time that Nasuada would have made a fine queen.

But that was about eighty years from now. Currently Weldon was leading the Varden and he had been leading for some time now—five years—and would continue to do so for two decades before Deynor succeeded him. Then Deynor would lead the Varden for some time and when his command was done, Ajihad would the next leader. Then after his death, Nasuada would become the next leader. He could only wonder if the line of leaders would remain as it was. Though he heard little of the leaders before Ajihad, he had a vague idea of their personalities and practices. Weldon, he heard, was very capable as well as strong and steadfast meanwhile Deynor was more dependent on others and that would lead him to accepting the Twins in order to give a stronger base for magicians in the Varden. At the thought of the Twins, Eragon's eyes narrowed. He was going to hope that he lived long enough to prevent the two traitors from joining ranks with the Varden. Hopefully, he would be able to make a situation in which there would be no need for the Twins. Frowning to himself, he stared ahead as Beren continued to gallop through the forest.

It took another day before he had managed to make it to the edge of Du Weldenvarden and when he did, he bid Beren farewell. They had passed the city of Ília Fëon a few hours before and now they were standing on the outskirts of the lush green forest where the pine trees were much younger. "You can make it back to Ellesméra on your own?" asked Eragon as he shouldered his pack on his back, stroking the stallion's muzzle. Beren snorted and stared down at him with his intelligent eyes. "Thank you for guiding me out of Du Weldenvarden, Beren. It was an honor to ride you."

The stallion released a huff of air through his nostrils and then nudged Eragon in the direction of the Beor Mountains. "Yes, I know," said Eragon patting Beren once more. "Take care Beren. Perhaps, I shall have the honor of riding you once more."

Beren lingered for a moment before he turned and galloped away into the forest. Staring back at the stallion, he sighed. Shifting his pack on his back once more, Eragon turned and began to make his way out of Du Weldenvarden. Having already said his farewells to the forest and its inhabitants a few days earlier, he straightened and left the cool shade of the pine trees as he made his way out onto the flat expanse before him with the Edda River to his left.

Traveling by himself turned out to be a rather lonely affair. Even Beren's company was sorely missed as he traveled the flat lands with the Hadarac Desert to one side and the river to the other. There was not one encounter with another traveler. For why would there be? No human would stray so far away from civilization. Glancing up at the sky as he ran, he frowned. It had been twenty-one years since he had taken flight in the sky. There was once a time when nothing was out of his reach—the land, the sky, the water—now, however, he truly felt constrained and restricted. To only be able to wander the land frustrated him. There was a freedom to flying that walking could never offer or come close to offering.

The day wore on and the more he traveled, the smaller the mass that was Du Weldenvarden became behind him. On the fourth day of traveling he could not see past the flat horizon of land. The only constant was the flowing river beside him. It was a silent companion in his travels and he found himself listening to the quiet whisper of the rushing water. It was as if it was speaking to him and in that time he acquainted himself with the river, he thought of history and the stream of consciousness.

Time was like a river thought Eragon deeply aware of his surroundings as he ran. It flowed continuously. The past became the present and the present the future. It was like they were all one. And yet, he managed to disrupt the flow. By traveling back in time, he was creating waves in the flow. His eyes darted to Aren. His father would not be wearing the ruby ring anymore and that alone was one disruption to the timeline. He could only fathom as to what more would change.

Allowing his thoughts to wander since he was completely alone, he thought about his life and his past life. Did he really lose anything? He had been contemplating that particular question for years on end. How could he lose something when he never had it to begin with? He did not have Arya's affection yet in this time. Saphira had not hatched for him. His parents had yet to meet and he was not yet born. Nasuada was not born yet and therefore he never had a liege lord. Circles upon circles—that was what time was. He could only hope that the more time he spent up to the point where he was reborn, he would be able to explain how Alagaësia had done what she did.

It wasn't until his seventh day of traveling outside of Du Weldenvarden did he reach one of the dwarves' tunnels. He had passed by the city of Tarnag to find it abandoned. It was understandable seeing how it was situated above ground and out in the open. He had heard from Orik that during the time the Forsworn existed, the dwarf cities above ground were often terrorized by the Forsworn that flew through the Beor Mountains. Therefore in order to save themselves, they had to abandon their cities and move underground where they were safe within their tunnels which were near impossible to find if one had not visited the tunnels originally beforehand or without the use of magic.

Having traveled through Tarnag and several tunnels that led to the city, Eragon had information on how to travel to Farthen Dûr without the need for help. Lifting his hand, he murmured quietly, "Naina," a bright sapphire werelight came into existence in his palm. Lifting the orb upwards, he pushed it forward gently allowing it to position itself in the air before him creating a small radius of dim light.

Peering into the darkness, he blinked. He did not like the idea of shrouding himself in an enclosed space since it limited his abilities to fight and nor did he like familiarizing himself with the darkness once more but it seemed as if it was his life now. With a frown, he stepped over the threshold into the darkness leaving behind the bright surroundings as he did so.

Traveling in utter darkness and in uniform expanse was even more unsettling than traveling on empty terrain. Being enclosed underground made him feel as if he was being buried alive by the Menoa Tree once more. Never before had he felt so isolated from life. Was this what death was like? Perhaps it would have felt like this or perhaps not. He would never know and gladly, he was better off not knowing. He had denied death twenty-one years ago and he was not keen on returning to such an experience.

And then as if unable to help himself, he thought of his time. Was it still flowing without him? Or had it been destroyed altogether? It was a question that bothered him. What was more was the part of Arya that still lived within him—that was still a part of his soul. It had always been his silent companion in the last two decades but he couldn't help but worry that _his _Arya was living a life without him. If she was still alive and if she still did exist, was she in pain? Was she still grieving? Hoping that one day they might be reunited, Eragon felt his heart tear. If there was some sort of divine power out there he could only wish that one day, he would be given one more chance to see her and to tell her how sorry he was that he couldn't keep his promises to her.

He had always thought about it as his loss but he knew now that it was also his loved ones' loss as well. The only difference was that he was given a second chance while they weren't. They would never grow to live out their lives as they should and in that instance, it wasn't Eragon who lost the most but it was them. As his leather boots softly made contact with the dirt ground, he reached up to lay a hand over his chest where his heart laid beating underneath.

For as long as he lived he would carry their loss with his and one day, he would atone for it. With that thought in mind, he shifted his pack once more and straightened before continuing his run through the large and open tunnel. As he ran, his mind wandered back to the time he spent in Ellesméra once more due to the fact that he had nothing else to think about and after spending several days deep in morbid thoughts about his original time, he did not want to wallow away anymore.

Already, he was wishing that he was back at Rhunön's forge merely basking in Arya's presence when she came to visit him or when she spoke to him. How was she faring? Would she be lonely just as he was? As an answer to his question he felt another memory fight its way to the forefront, one he did not appreciate in the slightest for when it came it always left behind bitter feelings.

_"It was not always so," she whispered quietly after a moment's hesitation. "Once, I had someone to talk to, someone who understood who I was and where I came from…He was older than I, but we were kindred spirits both seeking the world outside our forest, eager to explore and strike out against Galbatorix. Neither of us could bear the thought of staying in Du Weldenvarden to pursue our interests when we knew the Dragon Killer, the bane of the Riders, was searching for a way to conquer our race. I had already assumed my position as an ambassador for my people decades before he came to the same conclusion as I…but the moment he did, he volunteered to accompany me wherever my duties might take me," she blinked, her emerald eyes bright. "I wasn't going to let him, but the queen liked the idea, and he was very convincing…" Arya pursed her lips unable to continue._

_His voice was gentle as he spoke, "Was it Fäolin ?"_

_Her answer left her lips as a gasp, "Yes."_

_"Did you love him?"_

_"Did I love Fäolin ? How would you describe love? __For twenty years, we traveled together, the only immortals to walk among the short-lived races. We were companions…and friends."_

"Companions…and friends," muttered Eragon underneath his breath once more feeling a dangerous pang of jealousy in his chest. He did not want to doubt Arya's words but the fairth that she had of Fäolin in her chambers was rather hard to pinpoint as an act of friendship. If the only other fairth wasn't of her father he would never have questioned it. But it was clear to him that Evandar and…Fäolin , however grudgingly he wanted to admit it, were important figures in her life. One was her father…and the other was…was…

"A friend," Eragon repeated unbelieving.

If he ever was bestowed another chance to meet Arya once more he was going to ask her what _friends _meant. After a moment, he scoffed to himself. There was no need for him to feel jealous or bitter. In the end he had received her affections.

_Only because Durza killed Fäolin , _a voice within his mind reminded him. _You do not know if Arya will have any affection to spare for you if Fäolin is about contending for it was well._

He frowned and then he grudgingly had to agree with those words. He did not know for certain if his feelings for Arya would ever be given a second glance with how Fäolin was still alive. _That is pathetic, _Eragon thought to himself heatedly, _she did not simply love you just because she had no other option. _Content to with his argument, he pushed the idea of Arya and Fäolin from his mind and continued onward. If he kept thinking too much, he would end up severely giving himself a headache as well as a foul mood.

And it was well known that he never bode well on a foul mood. There was also the fact that he did not want to be presented to the Varden as an irritable ally.

After what felt like days when it was no doubt had been hours that he had been running with short breaks in between, the pathway of the tunnel ended to show a pair of gigantic doors—thirty feet tall—and closed in case of unwanted guests. He stared at the doors shifting his werelight so that he could take a better look at the product of the dwarves' engineering and craft. It was the same as he had remembered it. After a long moment of standing there and waiting, he decided to make his presence known. Unsure of how exactly to announce his presence, he merely reached forward and slammed the flat of his palm into the gate causing a resounding noise to erupt in the silence of the tunnel which seemed to amplify it even more.

He waited for a few minutes before using magic to make his voice loud. "I am an ally of the Varden," hopefully whoever was guarding the door would allow him passage. "I come from Du Weldenvarden. Allow me passage for I mean your people no harm."

Silence met his answer as he removed the enchantment on his voice. He waited for a moment and was prepared to make another attempt before he heard the near silent groan of gears before the doors began to inch open smoothly and a loud and gruff voice called out to him.

"Proceed forward slowly and hold your hands up showing us your palms," the unseen man ordered.

Having no choice but to do what was asked of him, Eragon slowly made his way forward holding his hands up making sure his palms were facing forward so that they could see the gedwëy ignasia on his right palm. He trusted that King Evandar spoke true to his words when he told the Varden and the dwarves about his arrival to Farthen Dûr. Walking through the small gap that was made for him, he only traveled a few paces inward before the gears turned once more and the doors closed, cutting off a path of escape for him.

He heard the shuffling of feet and then two dwarfs were standing before him. They bore a war axe that hung from a wide leather belt strapped around their waists and atop their heads sat an iron-bound ox hide cap, bearing the symbol of a hammer surrounded by twelve stars.

They were from the Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, Orik's clan or rather King Hrothgar's clan seeing as the dwarf king had yet to perish from the blow dealt by Jeremiah. Making no move to give them any reason to distrust him, Eragon spoke once more, "I believe King Evandar has contacted Weldon and King Hrothgar about my arrival to Farthen Dûr."

"What is your name?" one of the dwarves asked keeping one hand over the handle of his axe.

"Eragon," he answered politely introducing himself.

The two guards turned to each other exchanging words in their rough dwarvish language. After a few moments, they turned back to him once more. The guard that had spoken before nodded to him, "Wait while I fetch an escort."

_At least they were being cautious of who they admitted into their realm, _thought Eragon as he tentatively lowered his hands watching as one of the stout guards ambled off towards one of the archways in the distance. The other remained behind, keeping a trained eye on Eragon. But despite the obvious caution that they were treating him with it appeared that the dwarf was quite curious as to Eragon's overall appearance in Farthen Dûr. He was possibly the first elf—if one could call him an elf—that had been seen outside of Ellesméra since the fall of the Riders. His exotic appearance made him stand out against the other races.

While the dwarves were stout and sturdy and humans a bit fairer but albeit rugged, the term _fair folk _could be used to describe Eragon with accuracy. "You were a Rider?" the dwarf nodded towards his blades, his eyes traveling from Brisingr to Vrangr.

"I was," agreed Eragon. He could tell from the dwarf's eyes that he was fairly interested in the two magnificent blades but he made no move but to act on his interest.

After waiting for a few minutes, the earlier guard returned with an entourage of six dwarf guards all bearing shields with the symbol of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum embedded on the metal. The captain turned to Eragon and said in a deep voice, "If you would follow us elf," ignoring the rather short tone that the captain spoke in, Eragon nodded and made to follow while the other dwarves arranged themselves about him careful to keep him under their eyes.

Though it was a warmer welcome than when he first joined the Varden in his original time, there was still an air of distrust as the dwarf captain began to lead him through the tunnels towards the city of Tronjheim where he would meet with Weldon. Already, as he walked in their midst, he felt a sense of purpose return to him. It was here that he would built his new future.

**I don't have much to say apart from the fact that I'm exhausted. (Engineering is not an easy field I tell you all!) But I'm glad I had some time to get around to this chapter. I couldn't stand putting it off for too long. Anyways, since I want to turn in for the day, I'll cut the note short here. ****I hope to see you all soon!**


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**Let's move along people, move along. (Standard Disclaimer: Inheritance=CP. I borrowed the descriptions of Tronjheim from Eragon since I didn't know how to describe the mountain city). Also to answer the question brought forth in the review. The reason why Eragon was made elf-friend was because Evandar knew that Eragon was not truly an elf. When he gave him no title or house name in his introduction it kind of hinted that perhaps Eragon was not fully elf. And because of this, Eragon might have trouble moving between the wards of Ellesméra (which I tend for him to visit) thus by having Aren, he would be able to return to Ellesméra without difficulty. Catch my drift? Anyways, R&R!**

Though he had never truly felt at ease with any particular race, he felt the stinging difference between him and the others about him and could not help but feel as if he was stranger in a stranger's land. Was this how Arya felt? She had wandered alone for nearly fifty years in the midst of the other races, isolated from her own kind. What she had felt was no doubt close to what he was feeling at the moment. He was a black sheep amongst their company. They did not trust him, he could deduce that simple fact easily. From the stares that he received from the dwarves, it was obvious that they held a slim trust—if there was any trust to start with—for elves.

Still, despite the mixture of awed, disdainful, and unwelcomed stares, he kept his head high. He had been so used to having a position of authority and trust that it somewhat unnerved him to be thought of otherwise. "We were not expecting you to arrive so soon," the captain turned, his eyes glancing back at Eragon, scrutinizing the Rider.

"Traveling was a simple affair," said Eragon, trying his best to sound polite rather than indifferent as was common of him. He had to remember that though he was in King Evandar's good graces, the Varden and the dwarves knew nothing about him. All they saw him as was a Rider that once was and an elf.

They stopped before thick marble pillars laced with rubies and amethysts standing in rows along the walls with scores of lanterns that hung between the pillars, suffusing the air with liquid brilliance. Gold tracery gleamed from the pillars' bases like molten thread and arching over the ceiling were carved raven heads, their beaks open in mid-screech. At the end of the hallway rested two colossal black doors, accented by shimmering silver lines that depicted a seven-pointed crown that spanned both sides.

The captain moved forward after a brief pause in their walk and without warning, the doors swung outward on hidden joints. As the rift widened between them, rays of sunlight streamed into the tunnel, falling on Eragon and his escorts. Temporarily blinded, Eragon blinked and squinted. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he found himself staring at a scene that felt like a lifetime ago.

They were inside a massive volcanic crater. Its walls narrowed to a small ragged opening so high above that Eragon could not judge the distance—it might have been more than a dozen miles. But he knew from personal experience that it was a lengthy distance to the top opening. A soft beam of light fell through the aperture, illuminating the crater's center, though it left the rest of the cavernous expanse in hushed twilight.

The crater's far side, hazy blue in the distance, looked to be nearly ten miles away. Giant icicles hundreds of feet thick and thousands of feet long hung leagues above them like glistening daggers. Farther down the crater's inner walls, dark mats of moss and lichen covered the rock.

He lowered his gaze and saw a wide cobblestone path extending from the doors' threshold. The path ran straight to the center of the crater, where it ended at the base of a snowy-white mountain that glittered like an uncut gem with thousands of colored lights. It was less than a tenth of the height of the crater that loomed over and around it, but its diminutive appearance was deceiving, for it was slightly higher than a mile.

Long as it was, the tunnel had only taken them through one side of the crater wall. As Eragon stared, he felt a deep sense of nostalgia overwhelm him. Mistaking his contemplative look the captain spoke, "Look well, elf, for none of your kind has set eyes upon this for nigh over centuries. The airy peak under which we stand is Farthen Dûr—discovered thousands of years ago by the father of our race, Korgan, while he tunneled for gold. And in the center stands our greatest achievement: Tronjheim, the city-mountain built from the purest marble." The doors grated to a halt.

He already knew what the captain had told him. He had visited Tronjheim before and thus the sight of the underground city did not awe and impress him overly much but he did nothing to show such insight to the dwarves that escorted him. Instead he nodded, appearing once more as polite as he could be. "You have built a beautiful city," said Eragon.

Seemingly approving of his words, the captain motioned to his comrades and they began to move forward once more. Proceeding along the path, he let his eyes wander about. There was an odd feeling once more in him. He had forgotten how different it was to not have Saphira by his side wherever he went. Once more, joining the Varden only served to reinforce the hard truth that he was truly alone.

Frowning slightly, Eragon stared straight ahead as they walked. He could see the bustle of dwarves and humans about Tronjheim and without Saphira's presence they did not give much thought to him. However, there would be the few that would glance over and catch sight of his pointed ears and his azure blades and they would pause in their daily routine to observe him with curious eyes. The lack of welcome and response to his presence was something that he had to acquaint himself to. After all, he was no one to the Varden at least not of presently in any case.

They neared the city-mountain, and Eragon saw that the white marble of Tronjheim was highly polished and shaped into flowing contours, as if it had been poured into place. It was dotted with countless round windows framed by elaborate carvings. A colored lantern hung in each window, casting a soft glow on the surrounding rock. No turrets or smokestacks were visible. Directly ahead, two thirty-foot-high gold griffins guarded a massive timber gate—recessed twenty yards into the base of Tronjheim—which was shadowed by thick trusses that supported an arched vault far overhead.

When they reached Tronjheim's base, Eragon took a moment to study the walls which were lined with fluted pillars of blood-red jasper in which statues of outlandish creatures stood in between, captured forever by the sculptor's chisel.

The heavy gate rumbled open before them as hidden chains slowly raised the mammoth beams. A four-story-high passageway extended straight toward the center of Tronjheim. The top three levels were pierced by rows of archways that revealed gray tunnels curving off into the distance and rich tapestries hung between the different levels, embroidered with heroic figures and tumultuous battle scenes.

As they traveled, Eragon was not surprised by the lack of change of Tronjheim eighty years from now. Just like Du Weldenvarden, the dwarves were isolated from time as the elves were. If there was one thing he could take comfort in within the underground marble city it was that stone did not age. Whatever was engraved in the surface would remain there unless another force acted upon it. The idea was oddly comforting in a way.

As they exited the circular room that led into the nexus of four hallways, Eragon chanced a glance up at the ceiling. Directly above him was a dawn-red star sapphire of monstrous size. The jewel was twenty yards across and nearly as thick. Its face had been carved to resemble a rose in full bloom, and so skilled was the craftsmanship, the flower almost seemed to be real. A wide belt of lanterns wrapped around the edge of the sapphire, which cast striated bands of blushing light over everything below. The flashing rays of the star within the gem made it appear as if a giant eye gazed down at them. He pondered the sight of the Isidar Mithrim with a slight tinge of amusement. Arya had smashed the dwarves' beloved jewel in order to save Murtagh from Durza and give Eragon the needed distraction to kill the Shade and when Saphira had repaired the jewel there was a deeper and richer beauty to it than now. What the jewel became was far more beautiful than what it originally had been in his opinion.

Tearing his eyes away from the Isidar Mithrim, Eragon followed his guards into the right-hand hallway. They traveled it for several hundred feet, then entered a smaller corridor. His guards remained despite the cramped space. After four sharp turns, they came to a massive cedar door, stained black with age. The dwarf captain pulled it open and conducted Eragon inside.

Eragon entered an elegant, two-story study paneled with rows of cedar bookshelves. A wrought-iron staircase wound up to a small balcony with two chairs and a reading table. White lanterns hung along the walls and ceiling so a book could be read anywhere in the room. The stone floor was covered by an intricate oval rug. At the far end of the room, a man stood behind a large walnut desk.

Weldon was a strong man. He stood taller than most and if Eragon had to chance an approximation to his height he would say that Weldon was taller than him by a mere inch or two. His dark raven hair was neatly cut reminding Eragon of the image of a hardened soldier. Unlike most men, Weldon did not wear any facial hair. He was neatly shaven causing his sharp features to stand out more. Contrary to the people of the Varden, he wore fine clothing fit for a noble and a long sword was at his hip. The air of dignity that he possessed impressed Eragon and when he spoke, his voice was strong and authoritative. It was unlike Evandar's and Islanzadí's, and even Nasuada's but it was the voice of a commander all the less.

"Welcome to Tronjheim, Eragon," he said holding his hand out towards the seat before his desk. "Please, seat yourself."

He did as Weldon said and slipped into the armchair while the leader of the Varden seated himself in a high-backed chair behind his desk. He turned his sharp, hazel eyes on Eragon with an expression of interest. "I am Weldon, leader of the Varden, it is quite an honor to be able meet an elf. I had heard word of your arrival and had thought that you would arrive at a later date. It is with my most humble apologies that I was unable to welcome you as I ought to."

"It is of little concern," said Eragon dismissing the matter. "There is no need for fanfare on my part."

Weldon merely inclined his head. "You have come from Du Weldenvarden to join with the Varden am I correct in asking so? I received word from King Evandar that it was your intentions but I would like to hear from you myself what it is that you are seeking."

"To find a way to do away with Galbatorix and his followers," said Eragon without hesitation. "There is little else that I am striving for apart from that goal."

"Is that so?" asked Weldon, his eyes trained intently on Eragon. "And how would you do so as a part of the Varden?"

"Unlike most," Eragon began, careful in how he spoke so that he did not come across as insolent or overbearing, "I have far greater capabilities that can be put to use. And the most important one that the Varden lacks, is a capable spellcaster. I doubt there is anyone amongst the Varden that can be called a capable magician. From what I have gathered, if one wants to fight Galbatorix, magic is needed for the king is already gathering those to teach in order to weave them into his Empire."

"You can do magic?" Weldon appeared to be deeply impressed and even more curious. Eragon nodded as he lifted his hand. With a soft whisper, he conjured forth a blazing azure flame to show Weldon. The leader of the Varden merely stared on in amazement and it took Eragon a moment to remember that humans could not do magic and that the Du Vrangr Gata was not yet formed. After a moment, he extinguished the flame. "Interesting, I have only met a few dwarves who are apt spellcasters."

"Most, if not all elves, are able spellcasters," said Eragon once more remembering that the information that most humans had of elves were based off of their legends of the magical race.

He could tell that Weldon was very impressed by his act of magic, however simple it was in Eragon's opinion, but there was a sense of caution to him to which Eragon understood. Eragon was much more powerful than anyone within the Varden and that would make him a force to be reckoned with. If he showed himself with too much force and confidence, it might make him appear as a threat to Weldon's authority.

"I apologize if I may seem rude or forward, Eragon," Weldon began tentatively, as he pressed his fingers together in deep contemplation, "But I would like to know how you intend to be of assistance to our cause. Though the Varden has been created several years ago, it is still fragile and infantile in state. Your appearance may cause a slight stir in the masses. I must know where you shall stand if I have any hope to keep this organization that Brom, a comrade of yours, has created safely intact."

"I understand your concerns Weldon," said Eragon as he shifted in his armchair, "and I hope that what I will say would ease your concerns. I am not here to usurp your position or to question your authority. Nor am I here in any relation to King Evandar. I am simply here to help the Varden fight against Galbatorix."

"Then I shall have your full cooperation?" asked Weldon.

Eragon nodded.

Weldon nodded pleased with his words. "That is a concern alleviated," he smiled at Eragon for the first time since he'd entered the study. Weldon became quiet for a moment before he spoke carefully, "Of course, I shall not have you doing common labors. How do you think you shall best serve the needs of the Varden?"

"You shall need a group of magicians," said Eragon with hard eyes remembering how Deynor out of his desperation had accepted the twins into the Varden without even bothering to question their background and history. If he started training able magicians now, he would be able to oversee the growth of the Varden. "And if you will consent to it, I will like to help train the willing men into capable soldiers."

Weldon sat there for several moments staring intently at Eragon. If he allowed Eragon to train the men and to create a group of magician, it would be as if he was handing a great deal of control to Eragon. But essentially Weldon would remain the leader. He merely had to trust in his own leadership amongst the Varden. Even if Eragon was allowed to do as he said, as long as Weldon asserted his authority no one would dare question as to who was the sole commander in the Varden.

After a long moment, Weldon nodded. "I shall allow you to train the soldiers after you have settled your affairs with the proposed group of magicians that you spoke about. How long do you think it shall take for you to do so?"

"If you give me a few months, I shall have a group of novice magicians in training for you," said Eragon seriously. He had been thinking hard about the need for magicians in the Varden. If they started now, by the time history caught up the Varden would be off to a better standing against Galbatorix. And it was for this reason that he had left Du Weldenvarden in the first place.

"Now if it is not too much to ask, I was hoping that you are willing to answer some of my questions for me," asked Weldon.

"If I can than I will but there will be some questions that I cannot answer," said Eragon. "I hope you do not take my lack of answer as a means of insolence or rudeness on my part."

"No of course not, it is understandable," said Weldon with a nod. He paused thinking deeply, his brows furrowing slightly. "Where exactly is Ellesméra? I know from what I've read and heard about the elves is that after the Fall that they had retreated into Du Weldenvarden, which is in the northeastern part of Alagaësia, but nothing else about their whereabouts nor their history."

"I cannot tell you the exact location of the capital without King Evandar's permission," said Eragon thinking of how the information could endanger the elves if Galbatorix ever heard word of the location of Ellesméra or his spies. Though the wards protected the forest, he did not want Galbatorix finding a means to circumvent the magic of Du Weldenvarden and Ellesméra. "Knowledge of the elven capital is prized information. It is knowledge that they guard jealously."

"I see," nodded Weldon. He did not push the matter anymore, instead he continued onward. "You were once a Rider?"

"I was, my dragon was taken from my by Galbatorix," answered Eragon, his lips curling downwards in distaste. It still irked him how in the last moment, Galbatorix had managed to retaliate and kill him causing such a loop in time.

"Then why did you not lash out like Brom did? From what I have come to know when a Rider loses their dragon, they either die from grief or they go mad with rage," Weldon said, his intelligence shining forth. He was a very perceptive man thought Eragon. It made Weldon more of a capable leader in Eragon's mind. "I have met with Brom on several occasions and the times that I've seen him, he was not as calm nor as collected as you are before me. Instead, he burned with a thirst for vengeance and he has left to claim what was deserved of him."

He frowned at the thought of his father raging a warpath wherever his desire for revenge led him. He was still not used to knowing and hearing of an enraged Brom. In hindsight, he much preferred his calm and wise father. Thinking back to Weldon's question, Eragon carefully picked his words. "It was not that I was not enraged," said Eragon, "But rather that I know that anger does not bode well. An angry mind can blindside the best of warriors. In any case, I wanted to wait to act until I knew that I was certain that I can help and make a difference against Galbatorix. Call it caution if you will and perhaps maybe even cowardice."

He would have to play his cards right. He did not want to give away too much. If he appeared too sure of the Varden's formation, too positive that an organization would come into existence to face Galbatorix it would appear suspicious. He rather come across as a coward rather than overconfident and presumptuous. Weldon nodded not questioning him.

"And you have been staying in Du Weldenvarden since the Fall?" asked Weldon.

"Yes."

After a long moment, his eyes darted to Eragon's swords. "Your swords, may I see one of them?"

A brief moment of contemplation passed through him. Settling on Brisingr, he slid his sword from his waist and handed the Rider's blade to Weldon. He did not want anyone touching Vrangr. It was still too much of a reminder of Arya to him that he was unwilling to share with another person. The only person in this time he had allowed to touch Vrangr was Rhunön and no one else—not even Brom.

Like every other person, Weldon unsheathed Brisingr to study the blade in awe. Then he frowned as he tested the weight of Brisingr in his hands. "How do you wield such a sword in battle? The weight is rather significant."

Eragon smiled slightly. "It weighs rather lightly in my hand," said Eragon. "All elves are endowed with unnatural strength and speed."

Weldon raised a brow in interest and sheathed Brisingr before handing the sword back to Eragon. "Where did you come across such a blade?"

"I forged it with help from a friend." He slid Brisingr back into place on his left hip before straightening in his seat to face Weldon once more. If anything, Weldon appeared more impressed than when he first met Eragon.

"And what of your other sword?"

"It was gifted to me by someone important," he refused to say anymore and could only hope that Weldon did not see it fit to keep on questioning him about Vrangr. Weldon's eyes flickered to Vrangr with curiosity but his perceptive nature seemed to tell him not to question Eragon for he moved on.

The rest of his questioning was still as involved as his last and whenever he treaded over topics of sensitive nature, he effectively steered the conversation away. While Eragon answered Weldon's questions to the best of his abilities there was one thing that stood out to him about the leader of the Varden. Weldon was very observant. Nothing escaped his notice and Eragon understood then why Weldon was chosen as the leader of the Varden after Brom. He was intelligent and that combined with his perception of his surroundings and others made him all the more formidable as a leader. Eventually when the last question of his background was answered, Weldon leaned back in his armchair to study Eragon once more.

"Before you leave Eragon, there is one more thing that I would like to ask of you so that I can fully trust you," said Weldon.

"And what is it?" asked Eragon warily.

"I need your word that you are our ally and you mean the Varden no harm," said Weldon with sharp eyes. "From what you told me about elves and the other sparse information that I've gathered, elves are much stronger than most race. And they possess the ability to delve into other's minds. There is yet a magician or spellcaster within the Varden capable of doing so and thus we cannot verify who you really are. I can only trust in your words that you are who you claim to be and no one else."

Not arguing against Weldon, he gave the man his word and for good measure repeated it in the ancient language. Though Weldon did not understand, the slight relaxation of his body told Eragon that the man subconsciously knew that Eragon was not a threat. "Thank you for your cooperation Eragon. I know that it has been a rather strange experience. You have not seen a human in twenty-one years and I have never before seen an elf."

"It is very nostalgic," agreed Eragon but for different reasons entirely.

"I have a room ready for you so that you may unpack and settle in," said Weldon moving onto business. "I shall also send word for those who believe themselves to be capable in the areas of magic and when I have managed to compile a list of names and identities, I shall send word for you. For the meantime, allow one of my runners to show you about Tronjheim. You are the first elf to step foot in these halls in some time I've gathered."

"Of course," said Eragon. They spoke for a few more minutes before Weldon sent for one of his runners and within the next five minutes a young boy entered the study, bowing to Weldon in respect. As Eragon observed the boy who appeared to be no older than twelve, he felt himself frown. When he was twelve he was also working but for a much different cause. _Even now children are still carrying the burden of past mistakes, _thought Eragon sadly.

"Eragon, this is Lucas," said Weldon pointing to the light haired boy who was still gazing at him in awe. "He shall show you about Tronjheim and when you are tired, he shall guide you to your chambers to rest. If you have any questions do not hesitate to ask him. He is much smarter than he looks."

"I shall see you when you call for me," said Eragon as he stood making his way over to Lucas. Weldon nodded before turning his eyes downward pulling one of the many scrolls beside him out before him to read. Eragon and Lucas took his actions as a sign of dismissal and the two of them departed from the study.

"Well then Lucas," said Eragon the moment they exited the study. "Where is that we shall go?"

The young boy appeared to flounder on the spot, his fair cheeks splotching a bright red. He was rather timid thought Eragon and he knew that being in contact with what he thought was an elf made Lucas all the more anxious. He never really knew how it was that the elves affected others. He had always been an outsider watching in or rather to be more precise, he was sometimes one of those affected by the elves. Or rather by Arya. She had dazed him quite frequently and continued to do so even without noticing it. His mind wandered for a moment and he thought of how the females in the Varden had reacted upon smelling Blödhgarm's scent. He could also see in his mind's eyes the sight of people just stopping as they would turn their attention to the elf in their midst.

It was odd to think that now he was part of the staring and the admiration as well as the distrust.

"P-p-p-please follow me sir!" squeaked Lucas seemingly finding his courage to speak. Amused, he followed the young boy through the tunnels of Tronjheim allowing him to show Eragon to the many tunnels that ran through the underground city. He would pretend to be under the impression of seeing Tronjheim for the first time, it would only serve to dishearten Lucas if he found Eragon's reaction as indifferent to the marble city.

As they traveled, Eragon made sure to appear awed or impressed at certain parts of grandeur of Tronjheim. The more they traveled, the more it appeared that Lucas was gaining the courage to speak. Though he still stuttered at times, he wasn't overly quiet and instead began to chatter away to Eragon excitedly.

"Does your parents live here?" asked Eragon curiously.

Lucas fidgeted slightly as he tugged on the hem of his light brown shirt. "I live in the orphanage with the other children," he said quietly and Eragon instantly felt sorry for asking such a question. Immediately an awkwardness filled him. He did not know how to act about children. The closest he came to interacting with someone with around Lucas's age was Finny but his servant has always been outgoing and rarely introverted. There was never an awkward moment with Finny. Now that he thought about it, he didn't even know if Finny understood what awkward was.

After a long moment in which Lucas led him about Tronjheim in a dejected silence Eragon felt the need to speak. There was something bothering him about making a young boy like Lucas question his lack of parents and history. "I grew up without a father," said Eragon softly hoping that piece of information would spare Lucas of his sudden embarrassment of not having family.

It took a moment but eventually the young boy returned to himself and once more began to lead Eragon about Tronjheim with more spirit. When they reached the markets, Eragon instantly wanted to turn back and away from prying eyes but it was too late for Lucas was already pulling him through the crowded market bustling with dwarves and humans.

As he walked through the crowd, slowly one by one everyone turned to stare at him their eyes wide. He could see how amazed they were to see a legend within in their midst. They were believing that they were seeing an elf for the first time rather than a man that was once human but was turned elf. Women stared at him in what appeared to be a trance and he felt uncomfortable. He never thought of himself handsome, not when he compared himself to an elf's standards but he did not know to describe himself now amongst the dwarves and humans. The men stared at him in curiosity and some were even scowling at Eragon. Despite the obvious surprise on their expressions, there was also a slight hint of distrust.

_I know the stories your people tell about my kind well enough. Too well._

Arya's words suddenly rang in his mind. Elves were distrusted because they were too foreign, too incomprehensible to humans. Dwarves had a better understanding for them and perhaps that was why they had a better tolerance for elves. But humans did not for humans lacked magic and most of their views on the world hinged on their culture and traditions that were set in stone before they were born. Eragon could only imagine how it was that such myth of elves had come into existence in the first place as he remembered Arya telling him how she was accused of trying to switch baby for a changeling. The elves' magic had made them untrustworthy and too strange in the eyes of humans. And Eragon, despite how he hated to admit it, would be in the same mindset if he was in their shoes.

Eventually when he was free of the crowd, he was only too glad to ask Lucas to show him back to his chambers that Weldon had asked to be prepared for him. Eventually they came to a hidden hall that not even Eragon noticed his first time staying within Tronjheim and he was thoroughly impressed when he was shown to his rather spacious accommodations.

"Thank you Lucas," said Eragon praising the young boy. "You carried out your tasks well. You should be proud that you know such a great wreath of information on Tronjheim."

Lucas merely flushed but he could that he was pleased with Eragon's praise. After murmuring his farewells, he scurried from the chambers leaving Eragon alone to his thoughts. It had been a long day thought Eragon as he locked and warded his chambers from unwanted visitors. What was more was that he knew that the upcoming days would be long and hard. He was going to have to create a group of magicians once more starting from nothing.

Sighing slightly, he undid Vrangr's strap from his back and brought his sword about his body to stare at the weapon. He had not thought of it earlier but now that he studied Vrangr, he thought back to his encounter with the rest of Tronjheim. Was that the response Arya received when she first visited the Varden? He couldn't think otherwise. It was a good thing then that his appearance would serve to lessen the response to Arya's if she decided to join the Varden in this time.

Clenching his fingers and relaxing them, Eragon shook his head. He had to get some rest from his travels. From now on out there were no such things as relaxation. He had a future to build and it was going to take the next eighty years for him to accomplish if he had that much time.

"I must as well try to get as much sleep as I can," muttered Eragon as he made his way to his bedroom. He was already feeling tired and could not wait until his body made contact with the soft bed.

There was going to be little time to sleep now that he had joined the Varden but he would have it no other way for he was finally living out his sole duty that had been given to him: to put an end to Galbatorix. And his first stand would be with the Varden.

**I'm just trying to move this along and hopefully the action starts soon! Can't wait! Anyways, I hope to see you all soon!**


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**Another time skip and some introductions of **characters...don**'t worry everyone Arya will show soon! I've been rather eager to write ExA moments. And for the review that asked about Eragon having waking dreams, he does I just don't describe it since there's too much going on in each chapter. In any case, hope you all enjoy this chapter! R&R.**

"Lucas, you need to focus," said Eragon rather shortly as he turned to the young man before him who was struggling to gather his thoughts after Eragon had speared his concentration into pieces. If there was one thing he learned about Lucas, it was that the boy lacked confidence, and therefore it was easy to penetrate his mind and thoughts.

"I apologize, sir," said Lucas, his face beat red and his features strained from his exertion. The circular room contained nearly a dozen other apprentices, who were successfully moving along with their studies, and though it was Eragon's duty as the head of Du Gata Vrangr, to move about and study them as they worked, Lucas's inability to move forward through his studies had prevented Eragon from doing so. "It is just simply too difficult to focus my mind in different directions all at once."

"It is difficult," agreed Eragon hoping that Lucas would not become disheartened due to his short comings the past few days. "But you need to learn how to focus, else it would do no good for you nor your companions if you were unable to utilize your skills in battle."

Lucas, who seemed apprehensive about Eragon's reaction, seemed to sag in relief when he made no move to scold the young man. Rather, Eragon reached down to lift a sizable stone ball in his hand and placed it on the table before Lucas.

"I have seen you lift objects before," said Eragon watching as Lucas seemed to blanch at the size of the stone. "I want you to challenge yourself. We shall test the defense of your mind in the next lesson."

"Yes, thank you sir," said Lucas now turning his eyes to focus on his new task.

He watched as the young man, whom he once knew as a young boy, turned his eyes downward to the stone ball on the table before him and begin his task with newfound determination. Satisfied that Lucas was not wasting away in his frustration as he was earlier, Eragon continued about the room to study his other apprentices.

Six years ago when he had first arrived in Tronjheim, Weldon had accepted him as an ally of the Varden's under Eragon's promise to him that he would be able to form a group of magicians that would aid the Varden's needs. And so within the first few months that he had arrived in Farthen Dûr, the entirety of the Varden was questioned and observed for any potential magicians and spellcasters. However, despite the smooth process, there were quite a few hiccups spread far and between the searches for potential apprentices. Many humans believed that magic was wrong and unfair and that it went against the laws of nature and their superstitions of magic caused them to cast harsh judgment over those who practiced magic.

At first many were unwilling to participate particularly due to this belief of magic and due to the fact that they would be learning under Eragon, an elf who they did not trust. But there were a few willing students and despite how they were treated, it was clear after the first raids in which Eragon's spellcasters had volunteered in how essential magic was in terms of allowing the Varden to prosper. When once a company of soldiers returned with a cart of dead, only a few men were injured when they ventured out with a spellcaster amongst their ranks. The difference in mortality rates was enough to show to Weldon that magic was essential for their survival.

And so, the people had to grudgingly admit to the benefits that magic brought despite their distrust for it. Eventually more of the Varden began to volunteer their services to learn magic. Though their determination was admirable, only a few handful could actually grasp for the magic within themselves. Thus, began his task of forming the new group of magicians for the Varden. While he knew the group of magicians to be Du Vrangr Gata in his time, he could not bring himself to recreate the group with the incorrect name and so instead, he formed the Du Gata Vrangr, the true _Wandering Path._

Teaching was frustrating but patience was needed, else he would have ended up snapping at quite a few of his students. Over the six years he had learned how to reign in his anger as best as he could when it came to his apprentices and he could only see that he had done well in doing so for the spellcasters of Du Gata Vrangr were disciplined, determined, and overall apt spellcasters compared to what he had to work with in his own time.

"Sir," he turned to a sweet looking young woman with auburn hair.

"What is it Petra?" asked Eragon worried as he caught the crease between her brows showing her frustration.

"I am having difficulties with this particular passage," she lifted the ancient text up to him. Eragon took the book from her and began to read the passage written not in the normal lines of the human language but with the glyphs from the ancient language. Letting his eyes take in the writing, he paused as he found what it was that Petra was confused about. The pronunciation of one particular word had changed since the tome was written and it didn't fall in line with what he had taught her.

"It is not your fault that you are confused," said Eragon as he reached for her quill which she hurriedly gave to him. "The text is outdated and the pronunciation of this particular word has changed. Correctly, it should be this." He neatly crossed the word out and wrote the correct version so that Petra could see.

Returning the book to her, he watched as she began to read the line once more and the crease between her brows disappeared as she smiled up at him. "Now it makes more sense," said Petra.

Eragon nodded and he left her to her own devices as he continued to makes his rounds. What was most odd but all the more welcoming was how it seemed as if young women began to grow more confident in themselves within the Varden. Though females were often cast in a domestic light, it was rather novel to see capable young women willing to fight for a cause they believed in. He never really agreed with the gender roles amongst human society. Though human females were indeed physically weaker than their male counterparts, it did not necessarily mean they had to conform to the social norm. He thought of his mother, Rosalie, and Desdemona all of whom were strong females in their own right. It was refreshing to see that there were those who did not conform.

Petra was one of the few females that Eragon generally liked all around. She was very diligent and responsible and had a sense of duty and comradeship. She had come to him two years ago to learn how to become a spellcaster to serve within the Varden. From what he gathered about Petra, her parents lived within the Varden but they were not warriors. Her father was a blacksmith and her mother took care of her younger brothers. Though Petra did not say it outright, since she was the eldest child and the only daughter she wanted to find a way to assist in their plight. He had found that she did not like the idea of settling down at a young age and starting a family when there was much to be done still.

"Hitch," Eragon called to the man who was glaring at the glass with frozen ice in his hand. "You need to focus on your task and not let your anger get the best of you. Rushing will not help you reach your goal."

Hitch's eyes flickered to him and he nodded taking a deep breath before he went to focus on turning the ice back to water without altering the form of the glass. Though there was a certain method to doing it with ease, Eragon had challenged Hitch by using the spell _Brisingr._ If he could control his flow of magic than it would make him an even more accomplished magician.

The training lasted for two more hours before Eragon called them all to a stop. "You have all worked diligently," said Eragon as he stood at the front of the spellcaster. "I believe it is time for me to call for a halt in today's lesson. And I would also like to say that there will not be any lessons for the next week."

Catching sight of their dismayed expressions Eragon held up his hand before they could burst out into protest. "I have been assigned to a mission by Weldon and it needs my overseeing," said Eragon. He could see the tension in their expression but he continued, his eyes sweeping over those gathered in the room. "Though I shall expect all of you to be studying assiduously."

There was a twitch of nervousness in the room for each person knew that Eragon did not take lightly to those who slacked away from their duty. After a few more words, he dismissed them all and eventually began to make his way back to his chambers. Tomorrow, he was going to be leaving with a small company of men to Surda for supplies for the Varden and to exchange reports. Though it was a task given to the other captains within the Varden, Weldon had specifically came to Eragon to ask him to oversee this particular trip.

There had been reports that some of the Forsworn had been seen flying about the Beor Mountains. It had appeared that with Galbatorix ruling the western half of Alagaësia for the past near three decades had caused them to grow confident in their powers. Though he had not heard word of Morzan flying about the Beor Mountains as of yet, he could only speculate as to the other ten Forsworn remaining. Eragon had heard word that one of the Forsworn, an elf by the name of Faelon had ended his own life out of his crazed misery after the Banishing of Names—Du Namar Aurboda. That was merely one less opponent for him to think of.

Despite the dragons who had casted such an enchantment, Eragon could not help but think that it made the Forsworn only more dangerous in their madness. He had no idea how they were reacting to the slow degradation of their dragons but it appeared that it was beginning to take its toll on the Dragon Riders. _Perhaps not Dragon Riders, _thought Eragon with a frown as he readied the charger that he was given early morn the following day._With their lack of self-expression, their dragons have become no more than mere animals._

He thought of Shruikan for a long moment. Galbatorix's dragon was spared of having his name torn away from him but the black dragon was no better off than those of the Forsworn. Because of their greed, they had subjected their dragons to a most primitive fate. It was sickening to think of. Shaking his head from the thought, Eragon turned back to his company of men. Weldon had given him one hundred and fifty men to travel to Surda with for their cargo and back.

Glancing at their grim and yet determined faces, he easily mounted his charger, Creed, and turned back to his men. "When they open the gates stay in formation. If we encounter anything on the way through the path outside of the Beor Mountains, look for my signal," said Eragon in his authoritative voice that he had learned to use when he was allowed to trained the soldiers five years ago. "But no matter what, do not break formation."

He glanced back at his company of men made of three platoons. The majority of his men were on horseback while those that weren't were sitting within the empty carts that they had stationed at the rear center of the formation. It was a formation made for quick mobility but also for flexibility. He glanced back at his platoon leaders before he motioned to the dwarves that were guarding the eastern gate out of the Beor Mountains.

They acknowledged his gesture and began to turn the gears causing a low rumbling to echo over the eastern gates. He waited atop Creed, silent and relaxed unlike his men. With a cloak fastened at the base of his throat and his swords strapped in place on his hips, Eragon leaned forward on his horse. Despite the fact that he was perfectly capable of running the distance to Surda in a few days with a few breaks in between, he did not want to out distance his men who needed his commands to stay in order. Thus he was forced to use a steed.

Gripping Creed's reins in his hands, he narrowed his eyes slightly at the tunnel before them that would lead directly above ground near the Beartooth River. When the gates were fully open, Eragon waved his company forward. Gently pressing Creed's side with the heels of his boots, his charger tossed his head before galloping forward into the dim gloom of the tunnel lit every fifty feet by flameless lanterns but just for good measure he sent up his were-light to accompany them.

Though the acceptance of magic was steadily growing, he could tell that the floating orb of light unnerved several of his soldiers but they did not say anything for the darkness about them was pushed back. As they travelled, the sounds of the carts being pulled across the dirt path and the cantering of hooves against the ground the only sound within the tunnel, Eragon was left to the solitude of his mind.

It was apparent that six years was too little span of time to try and build the Varden into something more than a ragtag band of people seeking justice. It was clear to Eragon during his first year with the Varden how the organization lacked a sense of order. Having served Galbatorix for several years, he understood the need for structure in society. Though Galbatorix's idea of law was to put himself above and beyond it, his way of governing was effective albeit cruel and corrupt. The Varden at first was appearing to be traveling in the same direction as Galbatorix's rule and though he only knew what would become of the Varden in his time, he did not like what he was seeing.

Instead, Eragon quietly went about structuring the Varden in order to help secure Weldon's position. The first matter to be dealt was with the Council of Elders. He had remembered how they had managed to corner him into swearing his fealty to Nasuada and decided to put a stop to the corruption before it could take root. It was difficult but with Weldon's agreement they had shown the Council of Elders that they were merely there as advisers and nothing more. And though both Weldon and Eragon had created enemies from those who wanted more he could care less, it was another matter to be done with. Though they would have to make sure to keep a close watch on the council. The moment they let up, corruption would take its place once more.

The next matter to be dealt with was the army itself. Weldon was the sole commander of the Varden and with his military right hand man being a veteran soldier, he knew Irvine to be loyal and righteous. And so together, the two of them began to make reforms to the army of the Varden, instituting a rigorous training for their troops. There was a need of discipline and order that could only help to better serve them. Though the Varden was a rebel group for seeking refuge from the Empire, they could not afford to be on poor standards, especially not with the oppression of war in the near future.

At first there were many protests from the men. They did not like the idea of training for battle for they believed that they were safe in the halls of Tronjheim. Nor did they like the fact that Eragon would be teaching them. It was during a rather large show of insubordination from one of the soldiers, that Eragon had shown them how capable of a fighter he was. Though he had not fought an opponent for nearly two decades, it did not mean that he had lost his edge. Quite the contrary, he would have thrashed the soldier within an inch of his life had it not been for Irvine who had stepped in and eased the tension, proclaiming that the training was needed and that those who refused would be subjected to punishment for their defiance.

Was it a harsh treatment? Eragon did not think so and within time, they began to relent to the training and it was clear on the first day just how poorly they were fit for battle. Those training to be archers could not even hit their mark when it was merely a log of wood. Throwing them out into the midst of battle would only serve to kill them.

He spent five years trying to better the army and work on building Du Gata Vrangr into a respectable group of magicians but it was clear to him that he was going to need more time to do so. It was a slow process but the results would be worth the effort, of that he was sure.

They travelled for the rest of the day until night-time fell and Eragon, not wanting to work the horses to death, called for a rest a few hundred yards away from the Beartooth River so that they could picket their horses and allow them to graze on the grass and drink from the river. Having left the confines of the tunnels earlier, they were instead subjected to the cool night. Glancing about the area, Eragon turned to Marlow, one of the platoon leaders.

"Set up camp here," ordered Eragon as he dismounted from Creed, patting the charger's strong neck. "Have a patrol in place as well. I shall go see to the surrounding areas after I have settled my things."

"Yes sir," said Marlow, instantly moving to carry out his orders.

Unpacking his things from Creed, he went to work setting up his tent for the day. If they rested within the next two hours, the horses would have enough time to recuperate by early morning for them to set out once more to Surda. Within ten minutes, his tent was erected and his things already inside. Casting a glance back to the camp that was being set up, he began to make his way to survey the surrounding areas. He needed to make sure if it was safe to stay about the Beor Mountains.

He was certain that Weldon's fears were not unfounded. He had requested that Eragon take the role of captain to oversee the travel to Surda and had therefore showed to Eragon how seriously he was taking the sightings of the Forsworn about the mountains. Shifting a branch of a young tree from his face, he continued forward making sure to keep alert in case he heard anything.

After half an hour of scouting and coming up short, he was determined to believe that there was nothing dangerous about, he was about to return to the camp when he felt something strange towards his left. Curious as to the odd feeling that he was receiving, he drew Brisingr and Vrangr. Holding his swords aloft, Eragon turned towards his left and began to inch forward. He had waved away the noise by the River as the mere sounds of animals but now that he listened to closely, he thought he heard a soft voice singing.

Who could that be?

Even more curious, his grip on his swords tightened as he carefully stepped over a few branches littered on the ground. As he neared the source of the noise, it was clear that what he was hearing was indeed singing. It was not the singing that alarmed him but rather the lilting voice that was the source of the music. It was not a rugged nor roughish in any sort but rather soft and smooth. As he neared, he could pick out the words to the music and it surprised him to know that it was an elvish song that he had heard before during a festival in Ellesméra.

Frowning, he stepped forward and out of the covers that the trees gave him. The Beartooth River sparkled beneath the crescent moon and the werelight that was hovering a few feet overhead. The light radiated downwards and lit the river and the person that was bathing in the water. At the sound of his entrance, the woman in the river paused, her song ending with her silence. A few seconds passed and then she lifted her chin causing her dark hair to shift to reveal pointed ears.

"Who are you?" asked Eragon harbouring a sneaking suspicion of who the elf maiden was.

Her sapphire eyes were sharp as she regarded him before she tilted her head to the side, a rather cold smile coming forth. "You certainly are a rude one," she said, her eyes flickering to his swords. "Any other gentleman would refrain from intruding on a private bath. It seems as if you lack any sort of inhibition."

Eragon frowned but he dared not turn and show her his back. Instead he chanced a look at her and saw that she had turned and had drawn a towel to cover her, not caring that the piece of cloth became wet in the water of the river. He took a moment to scrutinize her face. Her skin was flawless and her features were smooth and ethereal like all elven-maidens. However, there was a characteristic about this particular elf before him that made him cautious.

"Then let me repeat myself once more," said Eragon unaffected by her beauty. "Who are you?"

"What makes you think I shall tell you anything about myself when you demand so?" she asked. Her eyes flickered to his swords and he could see a gleam of interest enter her startling sapphire eyes. She tilted her head to the side. "A Rider?"

"You have yet to answer my question," said Eragon refusing to relent. Could this elf be one of the Forsworn that Weldon had told him several of the scouts have caught sightings of? But then where was her dragon? It was odd to think that an elf could ever be a Forsworn but then again, Galbatorix had always been rather persuasive. "What could an elf be doing out in the Beor Mountains? Certainly not just for a mere bath in a river."

"I can ask the same of you," she directed back at him and it was clear that this person did not easily relinquish her answers. Annoyed, Eragon made his way forward to stand on the shore of the river. Shifting his right arm, he held the tip of Brisingr directly before her but she was unfazed by his threat, instead she languidly stretched in the river before reaching up to glide her finger up the iridescent blade of Brisingr. "You have a beautiful sword or rather beautiful swords I may say. The hue is fitting… tell me, how did your dragon die?"

If she was planning on offending Eragon she did not for Saphira was never killed. He was the one who died. Raising a brow, Eragon spoke in a rather harsh tone, "I would rather my dragon living peacefully in whatever afterlife there is rather than be turned into a mere shell of what she once was. Where is your dragon? Out hunting with the hounds?"

Instantly her expression changed. Her brows became slanted and her eyes blazed at the insult. "How dare you," she hissed glaring at him. "Your rudeness can only account for your rising. Hounds? Your mother and father were the hounds to give birth to such an insolent excuse of a Rider."

"If we are speaking of poor excuses of a Rider," Eragon's eyes narrowed, "You and your companions surely take the title. To think that what once was has given way to a disillusioned human greedy for his own desires to be fulfilled." His lips curled downward as he stared down at the elf in distaste. "Tell me do you enjoy kissing the hems of his robes? Do you enjoy your petty squabbles with others so that you may be looked upon with greater favor?" At the thought of serving Galbatorix, he felt his anger bubble. To think that such Riders would be easily won over by Galbatorix and his promises. "Does his approval mean that much to you, that you would forsake your humanity?"

She stared up the blade of Brisingr at him with a feral smile. "Does his approval mean much to me? He is the ruler of the Empire, the bane of the Order. The answer to your question then would be yes, it does." Her finger which was still lightly gliding up the blade of Brisingr paused and then she gently pushed Brisingr away from her as she began to climb forth from the river.

Still keeping his swords trained on her, Eragon frowned, as she gracefully made her way to her clothing. "You and I believe in different ideas," she said as she turned her head to pin him with a stare, her earlier smile gone to be replaced by a look of haughty superiority. "While you clung to an Order that was only interested in keeping the world stagnant and their own interests alive, you failed to see the lack of their necessity. What need did we have for those fools? They sat atop their high chairs for what? Just so that they could stare down at the world beneath them. They did nothing and in their lack of action, in their lack of seeing what was before them they fell."

His eyes flickered away as her towel fluttered to the ground and she began to pull her attire on. He did not need to see more than necessary and when he was certain she was done, her turned his attention back to her, to find that she was lacing up her boots a sword now resting on her right hip, the brown color looking fit to match that of a trunk of one of the ancient pines in Du Weldenvarden.

As his eyes took in her sword, Eragon felt a tone of clarity ring forth from within him as he took in her cold demeanor. "So you are Formora," he remembered Oromis telling him about Formora and her fellow Forsworn, Kialandí, and how they had deceived Oromis and Glaedr and nearly killed them. Formora was the one who had left Glaedr crippled for she had sliced his left foreleg. "To think I would meet you here of all places." He twisted Brisingr in his hand lightly. "No matter, it shall make matters all the more easier."

"You would fight me?" asked Formora with a twisted gleam of humor in her eyes as she regarded Eragon, though he was sure that there was a mixture of curiosity within her eyes. "Even knowing that I am a Forsworn? That I am above you in strength and power?"

"For much talk I have yet to see a reason as to why I should fear you," said Eragon scoffing as he bent his knees ready to charge her. "All I see is an elf that has let her greed and ambition take the best of her."

"I am afraid that you are letting your own ambitions take the best of you," her eyes flickered to the right, in the direction of the camp. "If you are not careful, I may tell my dragon to light your companions aflame. I certainly have had enough of your insults."

"Do not tell me your pride is wounded," said Eragon with narrowed eyes. "How petty."

"Do the lives of your companions not matter to you?" Formora asked as she drew her blade, standing ramrod straight as she observed him. He could tell by looking at her that she was confident in her abilities to win. Despite the fact that she could have several Eldunarí with her, Eragon was not willing to back down. He had stumbled upon a Forsworn and he was not going to let his chance slip through his fingers.

"I am only concerned with the opponent before me," said Eragon feeling his darker side come forth.

"You will let your men die?"

"If you plan to kill them," said Eragon coldly, "Then do so. Sacrifice is always a part of the world's workings." Her surprise was apparent as she stared at him. _That was right. To change the world, one had to sacrifice everything…even his humanity._

Formora studied him for a long moment before her lips curled upwards into a smile, a hint of her bloodlust showing. "For a Rider that fights for what was his perceived idea of justice you speak much like a Forsworn," she lifted her blade into the air. "Very well, if you want to see to your own death, I shall not deny you."

With that said, Eragon darted forward faster than any elf could comprehend. Though he may have travelled back a hundred years in time and had not fought in battle for nearly three decades that did not mean his skills had waned. If anything, his lack of fighting had made him eager for the battle to come. As he neared Formora, he turned and feigned to her left, arching in towards her. When their blades met, Eragon could see how startled she was at his speed and ferocity.

_Arya, _thought Eragon as he felt the part of her within him stirring to life at the sense of danger. _Give me strength._

Pushing her back, he brought Vrangr up to swipe at her which she blocked but she was late in dodging from Brisingr flying towards her and he managed to slice a clean cut on her shoulder, drawing a thin line of blood. Instantly, her earlier attitude disappeared, only to be replaced by an air of anger at the slight injury.

He drew back as she regained her bearings and instead charged at him. Parrying a blow, Eragon continued to battle her at a ferocious speed noticing as the fight continued how Formora seemed to grow frustrated. He was not going to be easy to kill off and he was going to show her that. Pushing her back once more, he blinked when she turned and managed to cut him across the cheek. The moment the cut appeared, Arya's magic came forth and he was healed.

Feeling the warmth of her magic as if it was a caress of her hand on his face, Eragon turned to Formora. Her eyes were hard and she seemed to be taken aback by the sudden appearance of the green light of magic. "I hope you've learned that I will not be easily killed," said Eragon as he made his way towards her not one trace of fear in him. His grip on Brisingr and Vrangr tightened.

She did not say anything but merely lifted her hand and he heard a loud bellow from above. Glancing up, he threw himself to the side as sharp talons came bearing down on him and a large brown dragon came diving from the sky. Wincing as one of the talons pierced his arm, he pulled away as the dragon swept Formora up in its paw allowing her to climb onto its back as it took flight.

"You may not have died today but if we ever cross paths once again then I shall not be as gracious," Formora called down to him with a victorious look. Eragon frowned watching as the pair hovered in the air above him for a moment longer before they turned and flew west, no doubt back to the Empire.

Without Saphira, he could not give chase. Instead, he merely sheathed his blades and turned to study his left arm where the brown dragon had injured him. The wound was closing up and the skin was soon healed. _So that was Formora._

Glancing back at the river, his frown deepened. Though he had heard of her cruelty and her need for bloodlust there was something about the Forsworn that confused him. His mind thought back to the earlier singing he heard and once more he felt puzzled. Perhaps her pastime was not to torture the less fortune or struggle for power with the other Forsworn. He chuckled darkly to himself. To think someone as corrupt as Formora would enjoy singing. _Next we meet Formora, I shall not hesitate._

With that thought in mind, Eragon began to make his way back to camp where he would later spend a good hour calming his troops who had heard the bellows of Formora's dragon. The following days in their travels, he did not catch sight of the Forsworn and when they were within the borders of Surda, he could not help but wonder why it was the Formora had suddenly decided to back down. _And then the Eldunarí, _thought Eragon bemused, _why had she not fought with everything she had? Why did she retreat?_

"Go retrieve our cargo," said Eragon as they entered the markets of Aberon, the capital of Surda. "And do not tarry, we must return to the Varden in due time. Do not cause any trouble in the city, it would be poor repayment to Lady Marelda and her kindness to us."

"Of course sir," they saluted to him and began to hurry about with the carts to gather their things. Watching them for a moment longer, Eragon turned to study the bustling markets of Aberon. It was still a rather young country thought Eragon as he stared about the capital. Letting his thoughts wander, he blinked when his eyes fell on a peculiar shop in which many odd plants were stationed outside.

"Marlow," Eragon called to the soldier. "Stay here to oversee the others. I will be back shortly."

Marlow nodded and turned to continue giving out directions. Meanwhile, Eragon had strode over to the shop with a feeling of certainty. Pulling the door open, he stepped in taking in the odd eccentricities within the shop and the peculiar smell.

"Ah, hello, may I help you?" standing there studying a plant was a beautiful young woman with dark red hair and fair skin. She wore a simple kirtle that made her look like a simple working girl but Eragon knew her to be more. He stopped short as he took in his faithful servant or the woman that one day would become his faithful servant. When he did not answer her, Rosalie lifted her head, her lips parting to speak once more but she stopped short when she took in his appearance.

He inclined his head to her as she took in his pointed ears, the swords that he carried, and his fair features. It was a wonder to see her emerald eyes once more thought Eragon as he stared at Rosalie. There was a loud clang in the back of the shop causing Eragon to avert his eyes to stare over her shoulder. He caught sight of a short, curly-haired woman and felt a faint smile curve onto his lips.

"What is it Rosalie? You are as still as a stick in the mud," Angela bustled about her apprentice to catch sight of Eragon and she appeared startled.

"Angela, the herbalist?" asked Eragon with a faint smile.

**Just slowly working my way about the Forsworn. I was always interested in Formora's character so I want to see where she'll end up in this story. In any case, more shall come to you all soon! Please be anxiously waiting! I hope to see you all soon in any case!**


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Hmm...well** there was a request from some **action...so** hopefully this chapter fills in some of that **need...but** a full battle won't be happening for a few more chapters. In any case, I don't think there is much to say really, so I'll let you all go ahead and read the chapter. Have fun! R&R!**

Before Angela could say anything, there was a slight shuffle of sound to his left and he glanced over at the source of the noise. A pair of red eyes suddenly flashed from the dark space beside him, and a large, fierce cat leapt onto the counter. It had a lean body with powerful shoulders and oversized paws. A shaggy mane surrounded its angular face; its ears were tipped with black tufts. White fangs curved down over its jaw. Altogether, it did not look like any cat Eragon had ever seen. It inspected him with shrewd eyes. He tilted his head to the side.

It appeared as if Solembum had been a long-time companion of Angela's. That in itself was rather interesting. Perhaps one day he would learn as to why the werecat was so loyal to Angela. It was rare to see a werecat so attached to a human even if it were for amusement as Solembum had once told him. Then again, he doubted if Angela was human. But he dared not say that aloud. Instead he glanced at Solembum once more before he raised a brow.

"I would not think to see a werecat in such company," said Eragon watching as red eyes stared up at him in curiosity. "We are well met werecat."

_Though I have many names, you may call me Solembum, _he felt Solembum's mind touched his and made sure to keep any important information withheld from the werecat. His tail twitched as he observed Eragon before he let out a small noise stretching on the counter. _Well met indeed, Rider._

"Solembum is a fitting name," said Eragon as he turned his eyes to Angela and Rosalie who appeared startled that Solembum would speak to him. He turned back to the herbalist once more glad to see her. She was as he remembered. Her personality was as eccentric and witty as ever.

"And might I ask who you would be?" asked Angela as she neared him peering up at him with gleaming eyes as if she had found a new experiment that particularly interested her.

"Eragon."

"In name or in person?" asked Angela with bright eyes causing Eragon to falter for a moment. He thought about her question and soon found his answer.

"In person," said Eragon. He was not a Dragon Rider in this time and therefore he could not claim to live up to his namesake—the first Dragon Rider in history, Eragon. Angela nodded and began to bustle about the shop while Rosalie made to move out of her way. It was somewhat unnerving how her expression was trained on Eragon. Though he had never felt uncomfortable with Rosalie before, the one before him was doing just that.

"Interesting," said Angela with a nod, her curly hair bouncing. "Now what is it that you have come here for? I don't run a store just to prattle on. Is there anything you want? Or did you only come in to look?"

"Actually I had a question that I thought that perhaps you could answer," said Eragon smiling as he approached Angela easily maneuvering about her shop, his eyes darting to a flower. The stalk was a deep ebony and he had a feeling that the flower was not exactly the most harmless of flowers.

"And what would that be?" she asked, peering at him. "I presume that there should be little for one such as you to ask of." Was she basing her words off his appearance as an elf or was she hinting that she might know something greater? In any case, Eragon did not bother to ask her. Instead, he spoke the question that he knew would irritate Angela.

"Do toads and frogs really exist?" asked Eragon watching as the curly haired witch pause in her bustling, turning her large eyes onto him. Beside her, he could see Rosalie's confused expression at his question. He pressed on, his smile growing wider. "Or are all frogs toads? Or perhaps all toads are frogs."

He watched as she frowned, her brows creasing as she thought of the answer to his question. Then after a long moment, she threw him a look as if cursing him for piquing her curiosity. "Such an odd question but one that no one has ever had the thought to address. Do toads and frogs really exist? Perhaps toads do not exist and then there will be a sudden lack of evil and witches cannot use them to make spells. Very curious indeed." Her eyes flickered back to Eragon and it appeared as if she wanted to say something but caught herself. Instead, she tossed her curly hair and regarded him with a piercing stare. "Though I doubt that you shall linger long enough for me to give you an answer to your question."

"No," Eragon shook his head. "I must be heading back soon, my men are waiting for me."

"Your men?" Angela raised a brow before her curiosity seemed to have grown even more. "I see, so you are from the Varden. How strange. How strange indeed…" She never made any mention to elaborate on her thoughts but instead began to murmur quietly to herself.

He waited, watching her with amused eyes. Angela had never failed to disappoint him and that statement held true as he watched her. Her personality was always a highlight compared to all others. After a long moment of merely speaking to herself, she turned her bright eyes on Eragon once more. "And if I answer this question for you, what shall you give me in return?"

"Let us practice in a system of exchange," suggested Eragon knowing that he would only serve to further heighten Angela's curiosity which would in turn spur her into action. He had always believed that Angela served a greater purpose than merely sitting and working in a shop selling herbs and telling false fortunes to noble lords and ladies merely to cheat them of their coin. "If you were to do something for me than I shall return the same sentiments for you. We shall use this question as an example, if you answer it for me then I shall answer a question that you ask of me. Does that not sound like a fair exchange to you?"

He inwardly grinned knowing that Angela oftentimes liked to play unfairly. But he knew her personality and he knew that he would be able to match her for once in their games. After all, he had a century of knowledge to bait Angela with. Eventually, she drew herself to her full height to pin him with a stare that showed her determination.

"Very well, I accept your offer and do not forget it," said Angela with a gleam in her eyes as if she had already won.

"I will not," promised Eragon. He stood there for a moment longer before turning to stare outside the window towards where his men stood. They appeared to be almost done loading the cargo. Turning back to Angela, he was already starting to feel somewhat saddened at leaving the witch. Though he and Angela liked to partake in what Arya called 'bawdy' and 'ineloquent' banters, it was always enjoyable. And then there were times where he and Angela would butt heads like Urgals did during fierce battles but he did not forget that the witch before him had once saved his and Arya's lives and for that he would always be grateful even if Angela did not realize it at the moment.

"In any case, I believe it is time that I take my leave," said Eragon as he stared down at the short witch. "I shall wait for the day that you come seek me for the answer that is due to you, Angela."

"Then prepare yourself for that day is quick in coming and I already have a question that I want you to answer," said Angela which made Eragon raise a brow. He could only guess as to what question she had in mind for him but he did not say anymore. Instead he turned to leave acknowledging Solembum on his way out before pausing at where Rosalie stood. During his entire time within Angela's shop, she did not utter one word to him and it felt odd for him to leave not saying something to his once faithful servant—the very same who would, at one time, throw away her life for his.

"May I ask what your name is?" asked Eragon.

She blinked before answering, "Rosalie."

He nodded and sought words. What could he say to Rosalie without appearing as if he knew too much about her? Despite all of their beliefs, Eragon always had paid great attention to his servants and their actions even though he did not understand them half of the time. Rosalie, he knew, did not enjoy living an extended life. She had been unable to live normally with other humans due to the fact that she could not age and because of that she could not marry, have children, or live a normal life with a regular human. And that was why she had followed Angela for the herbalist did not age and through time, Angela had become her sole companion. That was at least until she found Eragon and had chosen to follow him. Though he did not say it, he had always been grateful to Rosalie and her care.

"If you ever tire of life," Eragon eventually began his mind still searching for words to convey his message to Rosalie without alarming her. "There is always a place for someone of your skill and talent within the Varden." With that said, he inclined his head to her and went on his way.

As he suspected, Marlow had done an efficient job in loading up the cargo on the carts for them to return to the Varden. Nodding at Marlow as he acknowledged Eragon, he strode forward and mounted Creed taking a look at their formation. The carts were at the center rear giving them the safest position amongst them while everyone else was stationed about the cargo accordingly. Those on horseback rode at the edge of the formation while those now on foot were stationed towards the inside. Taking one last long look, Eragon turned to the front and nudged Creed gently. His charger snorted and without another prod took off galloping back the path in which they came.

Letting Creed lead the way, he could not help but think about Angela. If she did what he thought she would do, soon enough she would be joining the Varden once more. Though he did not know much about the witch to begin with, there was an aspect of her that Eragon had fully grasped with ease. Angela was curious and had a desire to be present for what she deemed as 'interesting events'. Understanding these two characteristics of Angela made it simple enough to gather her attention and then she would fill in the rest. Angela had always been much more intelligent and observant than anyone else he'd known even more so than the elves. She would one day come to a conclusion that he was not from this time and he could only wait until she did for that would be a burden lessened for him.

_A burden shared is a burden halved._

His mother's words echoed within him and he felt himself frown. He had always been too prideful to ask others for help but as the years passed in which he spent by himself, he came to realize that at times he needed help. And his pride would only serve to hinder any sort of progress if he let it get the better of him. Yet despite his acknowledgement of his flaw in character he was not going to go out of his way to ask for assistance. If it was offered to him, he would not decline it but he wasn't going to ask for it outright. Perhaps it would take another twenty years before he could even think about opening his mouth to ask others for help.

Staring forward as Creed galloped with ease back in the direction of the Beor Mountains, he focused on returning to the Varden. The traveling took much longer than it did to Surda. With the extra cargo, the horses easily tired and the men that were not on horseback did not have the energy to keep up and though Eragon was oftentimes easily frustrated he did not say a word and rested when they needed to. It was not the first time that he was reminded of their difference in capabilities.

On the fifth day of travel, while they were moving along the Beartooth River was when Weldon's fears presented itself. Riding easily astride Creed, Eragon blinked when he felt a billow of air beat down on him. Glancing up, he was nearly blinded when sparkling amber rays pelted his eyes as an enormous dragon flew by overhead, its flapping wings sending bursts of strong air down on them. _A Forsworn?_

Gritting his teeth, he turned back to find his men staring up at the sight with wide eyes having never before seen a Dragon Rider before. _First Formora and now this, _thought Eragon grimly as he tightened his grip on Creed's rein reaching out with his mind to touch Creed's. He willed his steed to continue moving despite its natural instincts to shy away from the dangerous predator.

"Do not break formation!" Eragon called back to his men as they nodded leaning lower on their saddles so that they could move at a quicker pace. He had suspected that they would not be able to make it through the entire journey unscathed but he had not expected a direct confrontation with a Forsworn. He had fought with Formora but it did not feel like a battle to him. Instead, it felt like she was merely playing him. This new Rider, however, was unlikely to share to same sentiments as Formora did.

They continued to travel, the dragon and his Rider flying above them. They made no move to attack and Eragon blinked confused as to why they would merely fly above them. Were they merely antagonizing them? He glanced back to find the majority of his men frozen with fear on their steeds, their faces gaunt against their surroundings and sweat beading on their brows. It was clear to him then that they lacked the courage to fight such a strong opponent.

_To think that even their mere presence is enough to stir such fear, _thought Eragon displeased with the entire situation.

His company continued traveling and when he thought that the Forsworn was not going to attack he stood corrected. When Eragon and his men reached the curve in the Beartooth River, the Rider atop the amber dragon lashed out for the first time. Eragon blinked when a flash of white light nearly blinded him and one of his men from the right flank toppled to the ground lifeless.

There was a cry from the soldiers but Eragon continued forward. There was no time to stop and think about the dead. When they made to break formation, Eragon urged them forward. "Do not stop!" he called back to his men as he continued to lead them forward. "If you hesitate, you shall end up destroying the formation and endanger the lives of your companions!"

He could tell that they wanted to argue for their fallen comrade but they continued with hesitation. If he allowed them to break to retrieve a fallen body it would leave them in a disarray for the Forsworn to pick off. "But sir, the body—" one of his soldiers protested with wide eyes.

"Dead is dead, you cannot change that fact," said Eragon harshly as he continued to spur Creed forward. "Whether or not you have a body does not mean anything. Do not sacrifice the lives of those still living for the memories of those who are not."

He could tell from the shine in the soldier's eyes that he disagreed with what Eragon said, but he did not question him. _That was the price to pay, _thought Eragon with a hard expression, as his eyes scanned their surroundings for some sort of cover to use to force the Rider aground. It was almost impossible to think with the noise about him which was a combination of the hooves of the horses as well as the carts rolling against the dirt ground and the heavy footfall of his men who were not on horseback.

There was another flash followed by a strangled cry and another one of his soldiers fell. _This was a game to them, _thought Eragon as his eyes flickered upward to the take in the sight of the figure sitting astride the saddle of the dragon. The way they plucked off his men appeared similar to a game of darts one would play in a wayfarer's house.

Urging his men forward, his eyes darted about and he saw it then to his right. Though it was off course, it would serve his purpose well. Immediately, he tugged on Creed's reins directing him in the direction Eragon wanted him to go. His steed relented and moved to follow his orders as he men did not questioning him. Near the valley were small alcoves where his men could take shelter in so that he could deal with the problem at hand. Lifting his hand, he held it out to his right.

Understanding his intentions, his men began to part from him like water about a weathered boulder. His eyes darted to them as they divided themselves into halves to take shelter under the rocky overhangs that the mountains provided. Satisfied with his decision, he glanced up to find the Forsworn still following him. _I shall force you to the ground._

"Go Creed!" Eragon urged his charger.

Tossing his head, Creed galloped forward towards the valley where it was large enough for the dragon to land. Bending low on his saddle, his eyes chanced a glance upwards to find the amber dragon flying above him. The moment the Rider landed he was going to show the Forsworn the consequences of treating him as a mere piece in a game.

_Brom is not the only enemy you should worry yourself over, _thought Eragon determined as he rode Creed through the valley, the shadow of the dragon above them eclipsing them. Feeling his blood pound in his ear and his adrenaline race through his blood, he mentally reached for his magic that he had stored in Aren, ready to use it in case he needed to.

Above them was another flash of light but the magic was not directed towards him. Instead, the beam of crackling amber light collided with the valley face to his right and instantly large boulders began to descend upon them. Eragon frowned feeling his irritation grow. It would take more than mere rocks to finish him. Holding out his right hand, he reached for the sizable amount of energy he'd stored in Aren over the six years leaving the sapphires in his swords as a last resort. Grasping at the torrent of energy, he gathered his breath before whispering in the ancient language.

The rocks rolled to a stop before they could dare to crush him and Creed and with another whisper, he watched as the boulders flew into the air with great speed towards the Forsworn flying above him. To his great satisfaction he watched as the amber dragon hastily moved to dodge the large boulders so that it would not make contact with its wards.

As Creed continued to gallop forward with Eragon's mental urgings, he waited for the next attack that the Forsworn could possibly have in store for him. It appeared as if the dragon was not going to land yet. His eyes darted back towards the entrance of the valley where his men were waiting for him. Whatever the Forsworn planned on doing, he could only hope they would not delay for he did not like being kept from a task.

Rather than try to incite fear in him, it appeared as if he had insulted the Forsworn with his attack with the boulders for the next thing the Rider did was send a jolt of amber energy towards Eragon to which he blocked with his magic. Then just to show the Rider that Eragon was not a foe to be fooled with his raised his right hand once more. "Garjzla!"

A bolt of sapphire light flew from his palm towards the Dragon Rider and he watched as it was deflected. The second attack appeared to have done it for the dragon suddenly stopped its flight and hovered suspended in air. Eragon blinked watching it. Then without warning, the amber dragon swooped down opening its maw as a deafening bellow filled the air. A second later a torrent of yellow-orange flames came bearing down on them. Though Eragon was warded, he had not warded Creed from the flames and so before the fire could scorch his steed alive, he called forth his magic once more wrapping it about the charger.

The sight of flames seemed to alarm Creed and his horse nearly tried to throw him off as it bucked in panic at the sense of danger once more. After great effort, he managed to calm the horse as the flames parted over them as if blocked by an invisible shield. When the flames finally subsided to reveal a mist of black smoke seeing as it scorched any of the plant life it came into contact with, Eragon frowned as he searched for the dragon and his Rider.

He did not have to search long, however, when a bellow to his right caught his attention. Turning on his saddle he watched as the dragon folded his wings close to his body before tipping forward to dive through the air much like how Saphira would when she went to land. Like an arrow at great speeds, the amber dragon began its descent to the ground and when it was close enough it appeared to almost crash; the amber dragon unfurled his wings before alighting on the ground with ease.

"Easy," Eragon murmured in the ancient language to Creed as the horse pawed at the ground nervously at the sight of such a large predator. Eragon blinked when the amber dragon turned its eyes on him. Its amber irises were clouded with anger and madness akin to a rabid wolf. _It is saddening, _thought Eragon feeling an ache in his chest at the state of the race of the dragons. It appeared as if the only sane dragon currently was Glaedr and even then the golden dragon was not whole. No dragon was in this time and perhaps that was why Saphira, Eridor, and Thorn were so majestic. Because they were young and whole and not crazed and lacking of identity.

"I applaud you," a voice floated over to him from the figure that was strapped into the saddle of the amber dragon. "I had not anticipated that an ant such as yourself would be so difficult to kill. My apologies for underestimating you, elf."

"And who might you be?" asked Eragon with a frown, keeping a steady grip on Creed.

There was a moment of silence before a mocking laughter greeted his ears and he watched as the dragon lowered his head to show his Rider. Sitting atop the saddle was a young man looking as if he was only a few years into his second decade. His hair was a bright blond against his fair skin which was now beginning to show the angled features of an elf but overall he still possessed the ruggedness that was characteristic of humans. His eyes were unnaturally red and for a moment Eragon was reminded of Durza.

"My name?" he repeated with a grin. Eragon blinked already disliking this Forsworn more than Formora. There was a rude arrogance to the man before him that did not sit well with Eragon. He had no trouble believing that this man was one of the thirteen traitors that comprised the Forsworn. "I go by plenty of names, it depends on what you are asking of me. However, seeing as you have managed to thwart my attacks I believe that allowing you to know who shall kill you is but a small favor that I should give to you. Listen well elf for I shall not repeat myself, I am Darius."

Darius? What a bland name thought Eragon as he continued to stare up at the Rider that was smirking down at him. His eyes darted to the amber dragon that was baring his fangs at Eragon and Creed then back to Darius. "And what is the name of your dragon, Darius?"

He knew the question was an insult to the Forsworn and could only inwardly smirk when he saw the dangerous expression that crossed Darius's face as he stared down at Eragon in great distaste. From what Eragon could tell from his encounter with Formora and now Darius, it appeared as if the Forsworn were greatly protective of their dragons or what remained of their dragons. Since the banishing of names, it appeared as if the dragons could no longer defend themselves to verbal insults. And the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. For if one were to call one of the dragons weak or pathetic, the dragon could not refute the claim by saying _I am not weak _or _I am not pathetic, _for in a way that was a form of naming.

"Whether you call it brazen audacity or a spark of courage I care not," said Darius with a dark scowl as he stared down at Eragon. "That insult shall not be taken lightly. Be prepared elf, you shall be the first to die since your loss at the Battle for Urû'baen."

Eragon raised a brow not feeling the least bit threatened by Darius's words, instead he calmly gazed up at Darius as if he was nothing more than a rather uninteresting spectacle. "Before you make do on your word to do away with me," said Eragon feeling as if he could already understand the workings of Darius's mind, "Why are you here in the Beor Mountains?"

"His majesty has given us leave to do as we pleased. And what better pastime than torture the inhabitants in this corner of Alagaësia? In any case I was hoping to see if I could find good game here and it seems as if my prayers were answered," Darius's eyes wandered back to Eragon before he smirked. "Formora and Kialandí are never enjoyable to spar with. They always claim to be the better simply because they are _elves." _Darius scoffed as if finding such a claim unreasonable.

And there was the break thought Eragon as he observed Darius. Though the Forsworn did not know it but he was giving Eragon a great insight on his personality. Already, he could piece together a part of Darius's personality. He appeared loyal to Galbatorix and he did not like elves due to their superior outlook over others. _He must have felt that way when he was still training, _thought Eragon interested. Darius, no doubt, hated feeling inferior to the elves.

"I have yet to see anything from you to prove that you are the better between the two of us," said Eragon with narrowed eyes. "All you have done is hide behind your dragon and toss spells at me in hopes that perhaps you would finish me off easily."

"It appears as if your entire race hinders around the concept of rudeness," said Darius with a displeased look as he undid the straps of his saddle to jump down onto the ground. Seeing him dismount from his dragon, Eragon copied him sending Creed safely away as he turned to Darius unsheathing Brisingr. Having not noticed the sword earlier, Darius's eyes darted to Eragon with a frown. "A Rider? I have never seen your face before in Doru Araeba."

Eragon did not answer him but he lifted Brisingr in his arms as he faced Darius his left hand moving to unsheathe Vrangr. "What would you remember in the three decades you have been grovelling at Galbatorix's feet?"

"More than anything those old windbags could have taught me," snarled Darius, his attitude immediately changing at the insult Eragon threw his way. They stared at each other for a moment. Having learned patience, Eragon did not attack first seeing as he did not want to put himself in such a close range of the amber dragon. Instead, he waited for Darius to attack him. The man did not disappoint for a few seconds passed before Darius was upon him, amber blade flashing.

When the sword came flashing down on him, he brought Brisingr up to meet the amber blade at the hilt watching as Darius's snarl grew into a sneer of intense hatred. Letting him struggle against Eragon for a moment, he gathered all of his strength and threw Darius back. Not letting the man regain his bearings, Eragon darted forward both Brisingr and Vrangr flashing in his hands as he run forward to meet Darius once more.

Their blades met once more but this time, Eragon did not merely allow him to focus on their blades. Bringing up his foot, he used Darius's focus on their interlocked blades to sweep the man's feet from underneath him causing him to stumble. Seeing his chance, Eragon drove Brisingr forward only to have his sword knocked to the side. Twisting away, he slid past the amber blade and brought Vrangr about full circle to knock the pommel into Darius's shoulder frowning when he was met with resistance. _Wards._

Shuffling backwards, he glanced at Darius who was looking at Eragon as if he was finally seeing him. Somewhat irked that he could not make it past his wards, Eragon darted forward and easily sailed over Darius's sideways cut. Turning in the air, his leg made contact with the back of Darius's head sending him sprawling forward. But as he sailed through the air, Darius easily righted himself. He flipped to his feet and turned to Eragon with an intense expression of anger at the blow that he was just dealt.

Before Eragon could move, he blinked in surprise when he felt a heavy tail swipe at him from behind sending him sailing into the rock face of the valley with a resounding thud that echoed throughout the valley. Blinking at the pain, he instantly rolled away when he heard the hiss through air and Darius's blade tore through the rock that Eragon was momentarily resting against as if it were nothing.

Shuffling his feet backwards, he frowned as his eyes darted to the amber dragon that had used his distraction to lash out at him. Though the dragons were more primitive due to their lack of name, he could not underestimate them. They were still one of the most dangerous predators to ever walk the lands of Alagaësia. Making sure to give him and Darius's dragon a wide berth, Eragon twisted his torso allowing Darius's blade to fly past him for the second time and with Vrangr and Brisingr flashing brightly in the sunlight, he twisted bringing up his blade to meet Darius's. There was a moment of resistance when their blades met but the momentum from Eragon's attack threw Darius off and the man went skidding backwards.

A growl leaving his lips, Darius turned to him raising his left hand where Eragon saw the silver opal of the gedwëy ignasia. "Jierda!" But he did not aim his spell for Eragon. He aimed it towards the left wall face of the valley causing the rocks to explode shattering outwards and raining down on them.

Jumping back to avoid a boulder, he blinked when Darius appeared beside him his red eyes gleaming with a great touch of malice. He barely brought Brisingr up to parry a blow to his midsection before jumping back and to the right to dodge another falling boulder. When it appeared as if the rain of rocks would cease, Darius merely raised his hand once more before shouting, "Jierda!"

Instantly another hail of boulders came raining down on them distracting Eragon as Darius once more was able to work his way up to him and had it not been for his fact reflexes, he was sure he would have been gutted like a pig would have been for a feast.

Jumping back, he gathered his own magic this time and when Darius made to spring at him, he made the ground beneath his feet shift causing him to stumble and with his stumbling, Eragon ran forward and managed to slice him on his right forearm causing Darius to hiss in pain, his red eyes dilating in anger at the injury.

"You shall regret that," Darius hissed raising his left hand once more, his palm shining a bright orange. The orange began to pulse and before he could release his spell, Eragon felt another spell pull on him trying to immobilize him to the spot but he had wards against it and when his feet suddenly began to lock in place, the heaviness faded away, the magic negated by his wards. The moment the spell left Darius's palm, Eragon darted to the side as the orange ball of light collided with the ground causing an explosion of dirt and stone to encompass a radius of twenty meters.

Temporarily blinded, Eragon coughed swiping the dirt away from his face. He paused in the whirlwind of debris hearing a hiss of metal and immediately dodge as the amber blade flew up and over his head. About done with the fight, Eragon frowned as a thought passed through his mind. He could try it but it would be cruel of him. After a moment of contemplation and another dodge to the head, he cemented his decision. Dodging Darius as the man made another swipe at him, Eragon darted in the direction of the heavy breathing with Brisingr flashing in his hands.

Then with a great swing, he swung it in a sideways arch from the right. His blade met resistance before it easily sunk into flesh and slicing through to the other side. A tremendous roar of pain filled the air as Eragon hurriedly ducked back from the thrashing amber dragon. The debris finally settling down, he caught sight of Darius hurrying to his pained dragon's side; his face contorted in white fury.

"You!" his left palm was gleaming once more and his expression was filled with pure hatred for the wound dealt to his dragon, which was now pooling, unabated. "I—"

"Darius," they paused as a clear voice rang over the roars of the amber dragon. "That's enough."

Hovering above them on her brown dragon was Formora. She was staring down at them with a frown, her sapphire eyes narrowed. Darius blinked as he made his way to the saddle to pull out a black object which he held to the amber dragon's wound. Eragon watched in fascination as a web of magic burst forth wrapping around the stump of the dragon and moving to reattach the paw that Eragon had cut cleanly off.

"Have you seen what he has done?" demanded Darius, furious.

Formora's eyes darted to Eragon before returning to her comrade. "He has beaten you, a Forsworn. How disgraceful. If Galbatorix hears word that you were bested by a mere elf, he shall have much amusement in wondering why he had picked such a weakling Rider as a part of his new order."

"You—!"

"In any case, your game ends here," said Formora with an indifferent expression as Darius glowered up at her. "Galbatorix has called for us and it will be foolish on our part if we do not answer him." With that said her brown dragon turned west and flew off, but as she left, her eyes landed on Eragon once more, the sapphire irises gleaming before they were gone.

Frowning, Eragon turned to Darius to find that he had managed to reattach his dragon's severed body part. Then with eyes filled with piercing hatred, he regarded Eragon for a moment as he climbed onto his amber dragon's saddle. "You have not seen the last of us, elf. I shall have my revenge for what you delivered to my dragon."

With that said, the amber dragon pushed off from the ground taking flight into the air leaving Eragon to stand alone in the rubble filled valley. Flicking Brisingr clean of the dragon blood, he sheathed his blades as he regarded the great destruction that Darius had caused to the valley. It was as if a great river had reshaped it, for it now appeared differently from how Eragon had seen it before the battle. _He had several Eldunarí with him. _That much was clear.

Frowning, he kicked some rubble away from his feet as he heard Creed cantering over to where he stood. In the two encounters he had with the Forsworn, he was beginning to understand what lay behind them. Darius was easier to read but Formora… she was more difficult. He blinked when Creed nudged him.

Momentarily surveying the rubble once more, Eragon gripped Creed's reins and mounted the horse. He could only think as to what Darius would plan for vengeance, but when that time came he looked forward to it. As he rode away from the scene, his eyes lingered on the dark splatter of blood on the dirt ground. Though it was difficult to kill a dragon… he was willing to make the sacrifices necessary.

"Sir, are you injured?" Marlow asked when he re-joined his company.

He shook his head and lifted his right hand. "Everyone back into formation!"

They did so without question then as if nothing had happened, Eragon began to lead them back to the Varden. His mind was still buzzing from the recent events but one thought stood out the most to him.

Why did Galbatorix call his Forsworn back to the capital?

**Why the name Darius? Because I just thought it fits that's why not much of a reason left and since Paolini only identified five of the thirteen Forsworn it basically gives me leeway to make up the others that haven't been spoke of which is daunting and exciting at the same time. In any case, I want the Forsworn to have different personalities and Darius is going to have a pretty nasty one compared to the others, just a side note. Also, someone asked if Darius was made after the Fate Stay Zero character, Gilgamesh, but he wasn't. I just wanted to make someone who was really arrogant and I suppose that's the formula to do it? In any case, there's some action but you all have to remember that the Varden isn't that big currently. It's still rather young and I don't think there will be a big battle for some years but I'll stew over that fact. (I know, I like action too...) In any case, I hope I updated a little faster this time around. It's not a daily update but **hey...what** can I do? (Once more engineering kills the brain and time too!) Anyways, I hope to see you all soon!**


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

**Another sort of filler-ish chapter but only because it was needed. This chapter actually had two versions to it (Eragon POV and Arya POV) after much contemplation I decided not to go with the Arya POV since it throws the story off too much and I didn't want to risk affecting the flow since it is rather tentative with all the time jumps. But in any case I have a feeling that this chapter speaks for itself. I hope you all will enjoy it! R&R!**

The small piece of trust that he had earned from the Varden in six years was incomparable to the sudden admiration and trust that he had earned from them after his skirmish with Darius and his dragon. Though his men appeared to have embellished the story somewhat by detailing it out to be a grand battle that Eragon was certain that it was not, the overall message was conveyed. He had fought a Forsworn, one of Galbatorix's strongest servants, and had come forth unscathed. That alone had managed to impress Weldon tremendously and the people of the Varden appeared to be much more welcoming to him despite him being an elf. Their earlier distrust began to ebb away but it would be almost too hopeful to say that no one distrusted him. He could tell that there were still few amongst the Varden that refused to give up their learned prejudices and nor was he going to go out of his way to try and change their viewpoint. In his view, everyone was entitled to their opinions and to deny them would be the signs of an oppressor.

In any case, the battle with the Forsworn had made his presence in the Varden more acceptable to the people now. The enthusiasm and cheer died quickly, however, with the amount of work placed before them. Though the dwarves had given the Varden refuge in Tronjheim, the organization itself could not depend on the dwarves to survive. The most important obstacle was self-sufficiency. While Weldon was busy trying to find ways to improve the standard of living within the Varden as well as fund the rebel group, Eragon was busy night and day training the soldiers and teaching the members of the Du Gata Vrangr, which was steadily growing into a group of spellcasters that could hold their ground against those in the Empire's.

It was during one lesson a few months after his encounter with Darius and Formora that Eragon was pleasantly surprised.

"Now," said Eragon as he stood before his senior apprentices while the less apt ones practiced on their own in the back of the room. "There are some basic fundamentals to—"

"It appears that I have the right place," a rather bright voice intruded on his lesson causing everyone including Eragon to stiffen in surprise. His eyes immediately darted to the source of the voice to find Angela bustling into the room without any sort of pretense or warning. Trailing behind her was Solembum in his cat form and then almost reluctantly, Rosalie finished off the triad. He watched as his servant quietly closed the door behind her as if to avoid disturbing the peace which had already been shattered by her eccentric teacher.

"Is something amiss?" asked Eragon as if it were norm for Angela to suddenly burst into his lessons. He stared at the curly haired witch as she made her way to where Eragon stood barely giving his students a glance over before turning to him.

"I hope that you have not forgotten your promise to me," said Angela her eyes gleaming. Interested in what she might have to say before his students, Eragon turned to fully face her with a raised brow. Though he did not give much thought to her sudden intrusion, it appeared that Petra was appalled by the lack of respect or manners that Angela had when speaking with Eragon.

"I do but do you remember the terms that I have set forth?" asked Eragon.

The curly haired witch nodded and drew herself up to her full height which was not much seeing as she was a head shorter than Eragon was. "I have researched and experimented over the question that you have asked and have come a reasonable conclusion."

"Which is?" Eragon prompted though he already knew what her answer was going to be.

"All toads can be considered frogs, however, all frogs cannot be considered toads," said Angela with great enthusiasm. "Thus, all toads are frogs. Therefore when one looks at it, toads do not really exist. For if they are frogs why call them toads?"

"But that's—that's absurd!" Petra exclaimed finally having enough with Angela's eccentric personality. "A toad is a toad and a frog is a frog. There exist a reason for the difference in naming."

"Who are you?" asked Lucas as he pinned Angela with an incredulous stare. When he spoke, he drew Rosalie's attention and the moment the redhead turned to pin Lucas with a curious eye the young man turned a brilliant shade of red at her beauty. Amused, Eragon turned his attention back to his students for a moment.

"Let us end our lesson for today," said Eragon despite their protest. He raised his hand and shook his head. "I apologize but we shall continue where we left tomorrow. You all have my word." Catching sight of their disappointed expressions he waited until they cleared the room before turning to Angela while Solembum went to make himself comfortable on one of the stone desks and Rosalie busied herself with studying the many instruments that he had gathered to teach the members of Du Gata Vrangr.

"I have never thought that you would be a teacher, no less to a group of magicians," observed Angela gazing at him with her bright eyes. "You are very curious indeed, Eragon. Very curious…And what is more, we heard word from those of the Varden claiming that you have fought off a Forsworn and live to tell the tale. Interesting events seem to follow you it seems."

"Is that another one of your observations?" asked Eragon curiously. Angela had barely spoken to him for ten minutes and she was already piecing together in her mind that there was something strange to Eragon.

"One can say," then she grinned at him. "But enough of my observations, if I remember correctly you are required to give me an answer to one of my questions now."

"And what is it that you wish to ask of me? If it is mine to tell than I shall gladly repay you the favor for answering my question."

Her eyes darted to Solembum and Rosalie who were a distance off before she leaned closer to him, her voice dropping to an ominous whisper. "You are different are you not? You are not who you claim to be."

"The answer to your question would be yes," Eragon replied back in a low murmur. "I am not who I claim to be."

"Then—"

"But that is all you shall receive from me," said Eragon was he straightened watching as outrage filtered across Angela's expression. "You have answered my question and I have answered yours. Our bargain has been fulfilled." A feeling of mirth bubbled in him as he watched as Angela struggle to try and argue with him. "If you wish for something in return from me Angela, then you must first give me something."

"And what would that be?"

"Your assistance." He watched as her expression became one of contemplation as she thought over his request before her eyes narrowed.

"If you are asking that I assist you in teaching your students then I shall tell you now that I have no intentions of doing so. Though I have no qualms about using magic, I dislike doing so. I much rather prefer my herbs over spells in any situation or day," said Angela with an expression of disdain at the mere thought of teaching magic.

"I was not planning on asking you to do so," said Eragon waving away her concerns. "You have just arrived to the Varden. Why not make shop here and practice what you wish? There are some ingredients and herbs here that you can easily procure from the dwarves which you will not find elsewhere. If here you stay, there will be plenty of opportunities for the both of us to continue our system of exchange."

She sniffed at him, "Though it appears as if you have swindled me more so than agreed to a barter, your suggestion does have its merits." She thought long and hard, her eyes darting to Rosalie and Solembum. "I see no harm in staying about so long as no one bothers me that is."

"I shall see to it that you are left to your own devices," promised Eragon. His eyes flickered to her two companions. "And Solembum and Rosalie?"

Solembum lazily flicked his tail before Angela answered for the werecat. "He is not bothered. Besides, I believe he wants to see for himself what the Varden is all about nowadays and as for Rosalie…well, my decisions have no cause to affect hers."

"I shall stay," said Rosalie with a slight smile as her eyes flickered to Eragon. "And if you do not mind, I can help and assist in teaching your students more about magic. I am not the best of spellcasters but I am confident in my abilities to say that I am well off with magic, more so than others. If you would have me, that is."

He stared at her for a moment before he smiled. "I will not stop you. You are free to do as you will but your help will always be appreciated Rosalie." She smiled at him and while Eragon went to explaining to Rosalie what it was that he needed her help with in regards to Du Gata Vrangr, he could feel Angela's eyes on his back as she tried to divine who he truly was. He could only wonder if she could. After all, nearly three decades had passed and no one else seemed to be able to see through the façade of his. Then again, he was never deliberately helping them to do so. For Angela, he gave her a slight push and could only hope that she would be able to unravel that mystery on her own.

And so began three years in which he spent with Rosalie, Angela, and Solembum. It was odd to get to know the small entourage once more but it was also very amusing all the same. While the Varden was comprised of people with grave dispositions, Angela and Rosalie were certainly a breath of fresh air from the norm. Though there were times when he and Angela appeared to be at odds with each other, he genuinely enjoyed the witch's company. On more than one occasion, he found himself remembering how the witch had made it a personal mission of hers to unsettle Arya by trying to disgorge details of their intimate relationship from her. Though Arya was always mortified Eragon had always found it rather humorous even though in hindsight all of her crass comments were about him and Arya.

Then there was Rosalie. Like it was in his past—or future whichever one wanted to view it now—she had become a steady companion to him. She had made well on her promise and had assisted him in each lesson by teaching the members of Du Gata Vrangr the art of magic, particularly in the areas of healing since she appeared to be a master in it. And more than once an injured member of the Varden had come seeking her help. What bothered him, however, was how men seemed to just flock to Rosalie. How had he not noticed it before? He wanted to say something but it appeared that Rosalie handled herself well enough. She sent each admirer back with a rejection that was no harsher than kind indifference. It was almost cruel but he could not agree any more. In any case he thought that Blödhgarm was a better fit for Rosalie.

Shaking the thought from his mind, he turned back to meeting presently. While one of Weldon's advisors was speaking, he could not help but feel uninterested in what was going on. It had always struck Eragon as odd as to why Weldon insisted that he sit in on all of his meetings but Eragon had done as he was asked for he did not want to show any disrespect to the leader of the Varden who regarded him as a trusted advisor and friend.

His eyes darted to Weldon and he felt himself frown. The leader of the Varden who had once appeared whole and young to Eragon was now nearing the middle of his third decade. Though he was still young, there was slight sign of age to his face showing. Throughout the time he'd spent with the Varden, Weldon had always been a steady leader and companion. His relationship with Weldon oftentimes reminded him of the time he spent serving Nasuada.

About ready to merely close himself off from the conversation, Eragon nearly choked on his air when Weldon spoke once more. "I believe that I have managed to work about the obstacle regarding needs in this particular case," he pressed the tips of his fingers together as he regarded everyone at the long rectangular table with sharp eyes. "I have received word that the elves will like to join our plight against Galbatorix. They will not openly fight Galbatorix but they are willing to lend us aid through any means necessary as long as it is reasonable."

At his words, all eyes flickered to Eragon who merely sat there with an indifferent expression on his face. King Evandar had decided to offer support to the Varden? His heart pounded in his chest as different thoughts poured through his mind all revolving around Arya. Trying not to let his sudden anxiety show, he focused on what Weldon had to say about the idea.

"And when did you hear word of such, Weldon?" asked Berthold a rather sturdy looking man with a thick beard. Out of everyone on the Council of Elders, Eragon disliked Berthold the most. The man thought himself nobility amongst the people of the Varden which in itself was laughable since the Varden was an organization centered about those wishing to fight against Galbatorix. The fact that he even considered there to be any status of nobility about made Eragon want to mock the man.

"I received a report from them a few days earlier," said Weldon not appearing the least bit perturbed by Berthold's strong disposition. "An elf shall arrive shortly and act as the medium between the Varden and their people."

"You mean to say an ambassador?" asked Eydis with shrewd eyes. Eragon's eyes darted to her and he knew only too well what she was thinking. Eydis had not liked the fact that Eragon had gone far enough to staunch the powers of the Council of Elders but after a near decade of advising Weldon there was little else that the council could attempt without having Weldon's authority threatening to come crashing down on them.

"What I would like to know is why Eragon has failed to mention anything," Karvel turned to Eragon with a raised brow as if seeking to undermine his authority. Eragon merely ignored his rather insulting tone as he thought of the sudden news that Weldon had delivered. He would worry about the grudges that the Council of Elders held for him at a later time if at all and focus on the thought of the new elven ambassador to come. Was it Arya? Had she decided to take up the position as the medium between her people and the Varden? Feeling his heart constrict in his chest as he thought of the possibilities that it wasn't her, Eragon inwardly frowned. He would not let the council see how much Weldon's news had affected him.

Instead, he lifted his head to stare at them with a rather apathetic expression. "I have once told you before and I shall tell you again," said Eragon rather stiffly. "I am not here to represent King Evandar nor the elves. I am here of my own volition nothing more. And whether or not I do hear from the king it is not in my place to tell you."

He could tell from their expressions that they did not believe him but he did not say anything else when Weldon spoke once more his voice ringing clear. "In any case, this new elven ambassador shall be treated with respect and I shall not have for any impudence. As an ambassador this person is acting as our direct envoy to the monarch of the elven kingdom. I do not want to risk offending King Evandar and his generosity."

The Council of Elders did not say a word but Eragon could tell that the prospect of another elf was something that did not bode well with them. He could only inwardly smirk as he thought of how Arya would handle the council in the years to come. Though he never gave much thought to her actions since she had always treated him differently from others, it dawned on Eragon as he sat there how manipulative Arya could be. She truly was the daughter of Islanzadí and she had proven that time and again with her intelligence and overthought.

"When will this ambassador be arriving Weldon?" asked Saldís, her eyes hard and her lips pursed. If one were to observe her closely they could even say that she appeared to be distinctly displeased. Eragon's eyes darted to her and away as Weldon made to answer her question. If they were surprised by his appearance ten years ago, they would only be shocked into silence when they caught sight of Arya. Her beauty was enough to stun any lesser being.

"I heard word that the elven ambassador shall arrive in two days' time," Weldon said once more shocking them all but Eragon managed to school his expression into mild surprise even though in the inside he felt as if he was burning inside out. He was almost fearful for the day to come to set eyes on the elven ambassador. If it wasn't Arya, he was not sure how he would react. At the thought of it being someone else, his grip on his armchair tightened. "In any case, I shall be there to greet the ambassador as well as King Hrothgar. It is a great step now that the elves have decided to lend us their aid. We must be courteous…all of us."

His eyes swept across the table once more before he continued. What he spoke of next was of little consequence for Eragon paid him no heed and when it was time for them to be dismissed, he blinked when Weldon asked for him to remain behind. Before Weldon could attempt to say anything, however, Eragon, with a simple phrase in the ancient language, warded off the room from any listeners who would attempt to garner any information from their conversation.

"What is the matter that you wanted to speak to me of?" asked Eragon as he turned to Weldon from where he sat at his left hand.

"There is no need for you to use a formal tone Eragon," said Weldon with a slight smile as he steadily gazed at Eragon. "After all you have been a close advisor of mine since your arrival here. It is in great part due to your efforts that our strength is where it is today."

"You humble me."

Weldon merely chuckled. "Always so formal but I did not ask for your time for mere chatter, I know that you are very busy."

"I have plenty of time," said Eragon letting his fingers tap against the marble of the desk that he sat at. A second passed before he decided to amend his thoughts. "Or rather I can make plenty of time."

"I have no doubt about that," agreed Weldon. "In any case, there were some matters that I wished to speak with you of."

"Which is?"

"First and foremost, I apologize for not speaking to you earlier about the missive that I received from King Evandar. It was short notice and I did not want to bother you while you were busy. With the training of the soldiers as well as the members of the Du Gata Vrangr, you have your hands plenty full."

"It is of little concern," Eragon frowned as he leaned back in his chair. "Either way, I would have learned news of this in any event. The only difference is sooner rather than later."

"Still, I would like to reaffirm the fact that you are one of my most trusted confidant," said Weldon surprising Eragon.

"That is much praise," acknowledged Eragon with a tilt of his head.

"The missive did concern you," said Weldon causing Eragon to turn his head sharply to him in concern. Seeing his expression, Weldon merely waved his worries away. "One of the reasons why King Evandar had agreed to lending us aid was due to the tremendous changes that you have made for us. Our soldiers are trained and the Du Gata Vrangr are as competent as any group of spellcasters that Galbatorix has at his disposal. Though you may think that I am embellishing details of your success, in truth I am not. And because of that King Evandar has seen fit to lend his aid."

His disbelief at Weldon's words only grew as he continued to listen. For one long moment, he thought that he might be listening incorrectly but Weldon's expression did not change nor did he refute any of his words. He merely stared at Eragon waiting for him to acknowledge his gratitude. And when Eragon finally did, all he could do was nod.

_Have I become that important of a figure?_

It almost seemed difficult to believe. After a long pause, Eragon found his voice trying not to let his whirlwind of emotions show. "Is that the only matter you wish to tell me or perhaps is there something more?"

"I have received word from Brom recently," said Weldon, his hazel eyes turning rather serious. "It appears that he seems to have glean vital information about the Forsworn over the past years observing them." _The Forsworn? _Eragon frowned. He had only encountered the Forsworn twice and that was three years ago. Ever since the fight with Darius, he had not heard a whisper of them about the Beor Mountains. Whatever it was that Galbatorix had called them back for Eragon did not know. If there was one thing that he could chance to guess at it was that Galbatorix had an important task laid out for the Forsworn, so important that they had been otherwise occupied for the past three years.

"And what has he managed to find out?" asked Eragon with a frown.

"Apparently there has been a rather _outspoken disagreement _between a few of the Forsworn over the matters of the Shade, Durza," immediately Eragon stiffened at the name. He had not given Durza much thought as he had tried to reshape the Varden into a stronger force but it appeared as if the Shade was still about. _That was right, _Eragon thought to himself in deep contemplation, _Durza was the one to teach Galbatorix dark magic to turn on the Riders. What has he been doing all this time?_

The thought eluded Eragon and all he could do was nod as Weldon continued. "A select few disagree with his ways and that has caused a rift amongst the Forsworn. Brom believes that he can use this feud between them to our advantage."

"He wants to pit them against each other," murmured Eragon in understanding. It would work but only if all the Forsworn were as single-minded as Darius was. He thought of Formora and her cold intelligence and knew instantly that she would not easily be fooled by such a tactic. The only way to do away with someone like Formora was to personally see to her end. He thought about it for a moment and frowned. Though Formora was his enemy there was something about her that bewildered him.

Weldon nodded and continued. "He will be rejoining with us shortly to devise a few strategies so that we can finally begin to lessen Galbatorix's rule. After all, if we take away his servants we take away a source of his power."

_But not all of it, _Eragon thought grimly as his mind strayed to the Eldunarí. Whether or not Galbatorix had his Forsworn or even Durza for the matter, the king was a great adversary in his own right. That was not to be denied. They exchanged a few more words but it was clear to Eragon that what Weldon had said all he had to say and after a few more minutes of conversation, Eragon took his leave of the leader of the Varden.

"Well, what is wrong with you today?" asked Angela as she bustled about her secret room that she had found in her exploration of Tronjheim when she had first arrived. She flicked a purple mushroom at him and he did not have the heart to dodge it. Instead, he merely allowed the mushroom to bounce off of his head much to Angela's amusement. "I can only assume that something has happened to have caused you to wallow away in your apparent misery."

Eragon blinked lifting his head to pierce her with a frown. "Have you not heard the definition of solitude?"

"Solitude and depression are almost interchangeable nowadays," she stepped about a potted plant that glowed a deadly azure hue that not even Eragon would dare touch. "If you did not know, the two are often in company of each other."

"Are you trying to comfort me or are you deliberately irritating me?" asked Eragon with narrowed eyes as his eyes followed Angela about her room which was filled to the brink with strange plants and herbs as well as ancient trinkets. His eyes caught two crystal balls that revolved about each other, one crackling in sapphire energy and the other in golden energy. _Where did she come across all of this? _It was almost suspicious how Angela just seemed to gather strange new objects as the days went by.

"I shall leave that up to you to decide," she paused in her bustling. He watched as she bent over a wooden counter where several overly large leaves rested. After a moment's contemplation, she swept the leaves up in her arms looking rather ridiculous seeing as the leaves nearly swallowed her before returning to her boiling cauldron and stuffing the leaves inside whatever concoction she was making. "Now, tell me what is it that has put you in such a mood?"

He did not answer her only to be on the receiving end of another mushroom. This time a ruby mushroom the size of his fist hit him straight in his nose and the moment it touched his skin he felt his eyes sting and a violent series of coughs was torn from him.

"Oh wrong one," said Angela as Eragon continued to cough his face growing red with effort. He was about to snap at her but was unable to as his body continued to heave up tremendous coughs that he was unsure of how to stop. When Angela had finally given him the potion to stop his reaction to the mushroom he glared at her as she smiled in an almost cheeky way. "I meant to grab the black one but…my hand fell short."

"I will believe your words when I see it," said Eragon doubting the fact that she had not meant to intentionally throw the red mushroom at him.

"Hmm…" she turned back to the cauldron and began to stir with her wooden ladle and in the light that emitted from the mixture, Angela appeared rather demonic. He stifled a chuckle at the sight of the short curly haired witch. By appearance she appeared harmless but in battle, she was formidable as any foe. "I heard word that an elven ambassador shall be joining the Varden shortly. It appears as if events have become rather interesting as of late."

Not bothering to ask how she came across such information, Eragon merely turned away from her and busied himself with a silver disc like instrument on the counter while Angela went to stir the mixture in her cauldron.

On the day of the arrival of the elven ambassador, Eragon stood by Weldon's left hand side while Irvine stood by his right hand. The Council of Elders stood not far off. And to a few paces away he saw King Hrothgar and Orik. He only met the dwarf king and his adopted son a few times during his stay in Tronjheim but they were as he remembered and at times it was much easier to be within their company than others.

Studying Orik and King Hrothgar for a moment longer, Eragon turned his attention away from the two and instead focused his eyes on the entrance of the tunnel before them. The elven ambassador was said to arrive at Farthen Dûr by the east gate just like Eragon had a decade ago. Feeling his heart anxiously beat in his chest to the point that he thought it might explode, his fingers twitched almost imperceptibly.

He did not know how long he waited by Weldon but when he saw the shadows of the tunnel shift, his throat constricted and air was impossible to come by. The figure paused at the entrance of the tunnel but then the shadows seemed to fall back as the figure stepped out into the light.

The sight before him was comparable to being slammed into the gut by the tail of a ferocious dragon.

Standing proud and tall was Arya but not as the princess as he came to know her as in this time. She was as he had first met her. Her long midnight-black hair was held back by a leather strip bound around her head. She was dressed in dark leather pants and shirt. Wrapped around her slim waist was a shiny belt, from which hung a slim sword on her right hip and on her back she wore a bow and quiver. Knee-high boots covered her calves and small feet. He swallowed as he dared to chance a look at her face. Her sculpted face was as perfect as a painting. Her round chin, high cheekbones, and long eyelashes gave her an exotic look. But what made his heart ache the most was her beautiful emerald eyes.

After not having seen her for nearly ten years, he found that all he could do was stare at her. But a small part of his mind that was not in a daze by Arya's appearance was breathing a sigh of relief. She had chosen to become the elven ambassador for her people once more. His earlier fears were immediately quenched as if they never existed as he watched Arya. Her light honey colored skin was radiant in the light of the flameless lanterns and she moved with a slinking muscular grace that bespoke her skill with a blade, and also her supernatural strength.

He watched as her emerald eyes took in the crowd gathered before her before at last they landed on Eragon and when their eyes met, he felt as if he was struck by lightning. The emeralds of her eyes pulled him in like no other and time stood still for him then.

One by one everything about him began to fade as he felt his mind take him to a time and place that no longer existed. Rather than standing in Farthen Dûr, he found himself standing outside the city of Feinster and before him was Arya dressed exactly as she was now but with Támerlein hanging from her right hip. Her emerald eyes caught his and a myriad of expressions blossomed with great beauty across her face before settling on one—love. And she came to him, her hands outstretching, her smile beautiful…and _his._

Instantly the image was torn away from him as he returned to himself. Arya had stopped directly before Weldon and due to his sensitive senses, he could smell the enticing scent of crushed pine needles.

"It is an honor to have you stand amongst us," Weldon spoke politely to Arya appearing just as surprised as everyone else apart from Eragon at Arya's appearance. "Allow me to be the first to welcome you to the Varden."

**Now with Arya back in the game, I believe things will get pretty interesting. I mean, there's so much going on at the moment. (Formora, Rosalie, the Forsworn, etc) and now with Arya back in the picture I believe things will just get intense for Eragon. Not to mention that I still have to introduce Fäolin and also write about what Arya had been doing the past decade. (Still iffy on doing Arya POVs for this story but I'm in debate at the moment.) In any case I hope to see you all soon!**


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

**After much thought I decided to go with an Arya POV for the first time in this story but this story will be unlike RL. There won't be much Arya POV in the early stages of TMF since I want to focus mainly on Eragon and splitting POVs too many times could end up making this story tremendously long (not that I haven't done something like that before!). In any case I hope this explains Arya a little bit in this story. R&R.**

Never before had the lush pine trees of Ellesméra appear more confining than they did now. The beauty of the forest only seemed to be a sore reminder of the vast world that laid outside of her reach. It reminded her daily of sights that differed from the pine trees and verdant grass. Even in the last decade the forest had remain untouched by time and the only indication of change was the blanketing whiteness of snow in the coming winter and the gentle breeze in the passing spring. Time passed too quickly and yet not at all in Ellesméra. It was ironic in its own right.

Letting her fingers glide over the sill of her open bay, her eyes flickered to the scenery of lush green leaves in which the sunlight poured through their gaps creating a myriad of lights. There was a calm serenity and beauty to the forest but never before had she felt so restless, so eager to do something. Eyes lingering for a moment longer, she turned away from her open bay window. It was not that she did not admire the beauty of her home, it was the fact that when she found herself lost in thought in observing the forest, time slipped by too quickly.

Already a decade had slipped through her fingers.

A decade in which all she did was contemplate—in which hesitancy gripped at her. Her lack of indecision plagued her and recently it made everyday life difficult to go by. What did she want in life? Walking through her spacious vine covered living room to her small study, she frowned slightly to herself. There was no point in continuing to let time evade her. Even if she was still deciding on a greater purpose for herself, there were duties required of her and her station. Being the daughter of Evandar Könungr required that she lived up to expectations set before her.

Entering her small study, she rounded the ornate pinewood desk to take a seat in the cushioned armchair. A neat stack of scrolls waited for her in the center but what caught her attention was the glass orb that rested on the left corner of her desk. Embedded in the orb was a white rose in its full blossom, its beauty forever captured and preserved by magic.

_In this world, Arya, there are flaming waters, frosty lands, and stone forests. There exist a world with many sights to behold and yet to be beholden._

How those words had chased her in the past decade. She wanted to see the world. She wanted to see what it was like—a world outside of Ellesméra. What was he doing thought Arya curiously as she let a single forefinger glide over the smooth surface of the glass. The giving of flowers was considered an important tradition of friendship within elven culture. There was more meaning to it than in other cultures for they considered flowers as a symbol of all things beautiful. And for Eragon to have given her such a gift told her that he considered her friendship important.

In the past nine years, Eragon had done something that no one else could have done for her. He had painted her a world that laid in waiting—a world that she was born to. It was a world in which she had the right to travel—the right to see.

_We are born to this world and it is our right that we are allowed to see the sights that it can give to us. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise._

Yet, she was unable to do so. _If you wish to see the world, you must first step outside of this forest. _And that was where her desires fell away. Though monarchs in the elven realm dedicated themselves to their people, it would not do well for her family nor her house if she decided to leave merely for her own interests. Her eyes darted to the petals of the white rose. Eragon had joined the Varden as he had told her before he had left. He had joined and had been working for the past decade to oversee the rebel group's efforts in fighting Galbatorix. He was fighting while she was doing nothing.

The thought made her restless.

Letting her finger linger for a moment longer on the cool surface of the glass, Arya retracted her hand and instead turned to the scrolls that needed her attention. Lifting the first scroll from the neat arrangement, she unrolled it to read the title of the scroll: _Growth of Du Weldenvarden._

Like most of her days, she spent her time reading scrolls and reports and in turn compiled her own to turn into her father and mother for they would be the deciding factors on what actions their people should take in regards to what was reported to them. Brows furrowed deep in concentration, she diligently set to work and would have gone late into the night had it not been for the gentle rapping on the screen door of her chambers.

Pausing in her readings, she neatly marked where it was that she had left off before fluidly raising from her seat to make her way to her chamber doors. The moment her eyes landed on the person at the entrance of her chambers she felt the corners of her lips curve upwards. Fäolin had come to visit her once more. Opening her screen door she gestured for him to enter her living quarters.

"I apologize if I interrupted you," he was quick to apologize but Arya merely waved it away. His company, she had found over the past five years, was always very welcoming and pleasant.

"It is fine," Arya reassured him, she quirked a brow. "Though it is curious as to why you here. Is something amiss Fäolin ?"

His charming smile was the answer to her question. Though he was older than her, his smile made his appearance radiant with youth. His skin was fair and his characteristics sharp and handsome. What stood out to her was his cool sapphire eyes that reminded her of the sky or the clear surface of a flowing river.

"I was hoping if you would like to accompany me for a walk," said Fäolin . "The night sky is rather beautiful and the moon is full, it would be an opportunity missed if I did not ask one such as yourself to accompany me."

At his words, she smiled and without giving it much thought she nodded. Allowing Fäolin to lead her from her chambers, the two of them walked side by side together through the gardens of Tialdarí Hall taking in the beautiful night sky that was dotted with stars making it seemed as if diamonds were embedded into the darkness above. He was speaking the truth thought Arya as she admired the fullness of the moon which shone down upon them.

"You appear to be rather busy as of late," observed Fäolin , his head turned towards her as they strolled together through her ancestral home. "I have rarely seen you of late."

"Then you would admit that you have been looking for me?" asked Arya with a raised brow.

He only smiled at her. "I am afraid that you have spotted my intentions."

A pleasant flush suffused her as she thought of Fäolin paying heed to what she was doing. But as she thought of his question, she felt her mood dissipate slightly. In truth, it was not that she was busy with her duties it was that she was having difficulties trying to come to terms with her life. She was displeased with the course of her life but she did not know how to rectify it.

As if sensing the sudden change in her, Fäolin instead directed the question elsewhere. It was best that he did for her train of thoughts would only serve to unsettle him for Arya was not the only one seeking a way outside of Ellesméra—out of Du Weldenvarden. Fäolin sought it too but his indecision appeared to be deeper than hers. As they passed through the gardens, her eyes flickered to the white rose bush and she saw in her mind's eye a tall and fair chestnut haired elf studying the white roses.

_They mean much to me._

The part of her heart that was captured by Eragon's stories wanted to see him once more and listen to his tales of his travels. She wanted to hear about the sight of the world at the heights of the sky. She wanted to hear about the whiteness of the Beor Mountains. She wanted to hear about the dangers of the Spine. But most of all, she wanted to see it—see it all for herself.

However, she could not and that was because of Galbatorix. Though he had not attempted to breach the boundaries of Du Weldenvarden, she knew that it would only be time before he found a means to conquer the ancient wards that protected their forest from his tyranny. At the thought of Galbatorix, she felt an unpleasant feeling well up within her. He had betrayed the Riders and had killed off what once was a beautiful Order and had nearly caused the dragons to go extinct in his greed to be supreme. And if it had not been for Eragon, her father would have been another one fell by his blade.

If her father had died in the battle for Iliera, she could not even fathom how she would have reacted. Her father, she loved him. To think of him not being a part of her life made her heart clench somewhat in her chest and once more she was so fervently grateful to Eragon for having the bravery to fend off Galbatorix, the very man whom had killed off his dragon and brethren. _And now he is trying his utmost to fight against Galbatorix, _thought Arya distracted as she walked alongside Fäolin , _while I live here studying, practicing, and carrying out my duties as Arya Dröttningu._

"Is something bothering you Arya?"

Arya blinked turning her head to stare up at Fäolin . They had come to a stop and her eyes flickered about the gardens stopping when they once more landed on the white rose bush directly to their left. Her eyes shifted back to Fäolin as she shook her head, her dark hair gently moving with the movement.

"I was just thinking," said Arya. "It is a small concern." Lifting her head up, she took in the dark night sky and the once more glorious full moon. "It is certainly not important enough to ruin such a beautiful night."

She saw Fäolin 's lips quirk as he bestowed upon her a faint smile. "As you are."

Arya blinked in surprised. Apart from her family, no one had once called her beautiful. Compared to those of her race, there were certainly others who were considered fairer than she. For one, there was her mother, a striking beautiful and regal figure against the lush green of the forest. And though she was her mother's daughter, she knew she could not compare to her mother's beauty. No, thought Arya with certainty, she was not the most beautiful of her race and never had she given her appearance much thought.

Until Fäolin had vocalized it.

A pleasant feeling curled its way about her chest and suddenly she felt rather warm as she smiled at him. "You are too kind," murmured Arya as she reached out to let her fingers glide over the white petal of one white rose. Instantly, she thought of sparkling brown eyes and a small part of her heart longed to be standing within Rhunön's forge.

Distracted by her sudden thoughts she blinked when words spoken a decade ago came back to her.

_I have decided that now is the time for me to fight. It is my duty to those who have fallen under Galbatorix…to the whole of Alagaësia._

"Allow me to be the first to welcome you to the Varden," said Weldon in a polite voice but she could tell from his eyes that he appeared to be unsettled by her appearance. He was no doubt wondering why it was that a woman would be given such an important position amongst her people. She would never understand human culture and traditions despite her lessons years earlier on the human race.

"Your welcome is most pleasant," said Arya easily speaking in the human tongue. Her use of the human language was not as fluid as Eragon's though. While he could speak in the human language with ease and without an accent, her voice came out in a rich, accent. For a split second, her eyes darted to the elf that stood by Weldon's left hand and a wealth of emotion tore through her as she laid eyes on the first person she would call a good friend of hers. Though she did not understand why she felt the way she did, she was glad to see Eragon well and whole. While a decade in Ellesméra could flit by in a blink of an eye, the same could not be said for a decade spent in the Varden.

He stood proud and tall, his chestnut hair messy and his brown eyes deep and contemplative as he regarded her. For a moment, she wanted to reach out to him within the confines of her mind and ask that he did not reveal her title to the others but he made no move to regard her as a princess, which eased her mind. The clothing he wore were made of fine fabric she could tell. On his torso he wore a black jerkin, cinched at his trim waist giving his body an angular and strong look. His hosen pants were a matching ebony and his leather boots were the same dark color. For a moment, his attire matched hers in that all he wore was sable colored clothing. The only differing colors were from his swords and the ruby ring that he wore on his left hand.

He truly did look like a warrior.

"I am Weldon, leader of the Varden," her eyes flickered back to Weldon as he introduced himself. The leader of the Varden was as she had imagined him to be. He was tall and built with a stern disposition it appeared. His dark hair was beginning to show signs of gray and his hazel eyes were deep as they peered at her. "And this is my right-hand in command, Irvine."

Arya acknowledge him with a tilt of her head before Weldon gestured to Eragon. He appeared hesitant for a moment before he spoke. "I do not know if you have already met but this is Eragon, a trusted advisor of mine as well as leader of the Du Gata Vrangr." _Du Gata Vrangr? _The Wandering Path? Curious, she turned to Eragon who stared at her with a slight crease between his brows as if he was trying to figure out how to address her.

Making the decision for him, she allowed her lips to curve upwards slightly. It was a very imperceptible gesture, one that was easily missed but Eragon had saw. "We have met before," said Arya making note to remember the sudden vexed looks on several of the humans gather apart from Weldon and Irvine, both of whom appeared surprised by her words. "It is a welcome sight to see that you are well, Eragon."

"You as well," replied Eragon. He appeared as if he wanted to say more but refrained from doing so.

With one last glance between Eragon and Arya, Weldon gestured to the group of humans who stood to the side. Their expressions as they gazed at her ranged from distaste to a boiling lust that made her uncomfortable on all accounts. Calling forth her practiced calm, she allowed Weldon to introduce her to the Council of Elders.

It truly was a surprise thought Arya as she was introduced to those gathered. Never before had she seen another race apart from her own and to be in the midst of humans and dwarves awed her even if she did not show it. They were all so different from each other that it was unusual. Though her people were not exact in appearance, there were great similarities from one elf to the other. They possessed fair skin, sharp curves, and fine, smooth features. It was all so different that for a moment she was almost overwhelmed.

And when she met King Hrothgar, she could only feel humbled to be in his presence. Standing directly before her was the king of the dwarf realm and instantly she thought of the difference between her father and Hrothgar as well as their similarities. Eventually once the introductions were done, Weldon turned to her.

"And may I ask for your introductions as well elven ambassador?"

"I am Arya, the chosen ambassador for my people," answered Arya watching as several eyes blinked once more at the sound of her voice. "I shall be representing my people in order to better delegate our relations."

Weldon nodded and gestured towards the gates and the peaked halls that laid in waiting and instantly she felt her heart thrum in anticipation. She was going to be seeing Farthen Dûr for the first time in her life, something that most of her people had not had the chance to do so for centuries.

"Let me show you through Farthen Dûr and Tronjheim," said Weldon as he began to lead the way.

Emerald eyes bright, she made to follow him. Falling into step beside Eragon, she began to follow Weldon who walked beside King Hrothgar and Orik while the Council of Elders followed them not far off. As they walked she felt her anticipation grow. After hearing so many stories from Eragon, she could only think of how Tronjheim would appear.

As they walked, she made sure to answer questions directed her way but it appeared as if Weldon and King Hrothgar were content to merely speaking to her of the recent events in the Varden's history. While she was listening, her eyes were flickering about her surroundings taking in the stone halls and the lack of plant life.

Passing by thick marble pillars laced with rubies and amethysts standing in rows along the walls with scores of lanterns that hung between them. She took in the gold tracery that gleamed from the pillars' bases like molten thread and arching over the ceiling were carved raven heads, their beaks open in mid-screech. They approached the end of the hallway where two colossal black doors towered, accented by shimmering silver lines that depicted a seven-pointed crown that spanned both sides.

At their approach the doors swung outwards to reveal a massive volcanic crater. Its walls narrowed to a small ragged opening so high above that Arya could not judge the distance—it might have been more than a dozen miles. A soft beam of light fell through the aperture, illuminating the crater's center, though it left the rest of the cavernous expanse in hushed twilight.

The crater's far side, hazy blue in the distance, looked to be nearly ten miles away. Giant icicles hundreds of feet thick and thousands of feet long hung leagues above them like glistening daggers. Farther down the crater's inner walls, dark mats of moss and lichen covered the rock.

She lowered her gaze and saw a wide cobblestone path extending from the doors' threshold. The path ran straight to the center of the crater, where it ended at the base of a snowy-white mountain that glittered like an uncut gem with thousands of colored lights. It was less than a tenth of the height of the crater that loomed over and around it, but its diminutive appearance was deceiving, for it was slightly higher than a mile.

_The City of Tronjheim._

It was odd and yet deeply profound as she stared down at the fine white marble city. What had once been a mere image created by Eragon's stories was now standing before her, proud and ancient. After nearly two decades, she was finally seeing it for herself, the beautiful city of Tronjheim. Careful to remain behind Weldon and the others, she could not help but allow her eyes to wander before they eventually met the eyes of the person beside her.

Eragon was watching her with a slight smile on his face, his brown eyes sparkling as if he understood what it was that was going on through her mind. When their eyes met, his smile widened just slightly and she was struck by how boyish his expression appeared to her. He had always looked so calm and collected that it stood out to her. But it was not awkward nor unwelcomed and yet the way he was gazing at her, it was as if he had always been smiling at her. Why did it feel so familiar?

Unbidden by her, she felt her a slight smile stretch across her own lips to show her own joy at finally being able to see the sights outside of Ellesméra.

_The person to behold all of these sights will become the freest person in the world._

She had taken one step towards the freedom that laid outside of Ellesméra and the feeling it brought to her was so great that it was hard to give it description. As she held his gaze, she saw his left hand twitch as if he wanted to instinctively take hold of something. Her eyes flickered to his hand pausing on the ruby ring that he wore, the black etching in the jewel standing out against the red. It was the symbol of the yawë.

It did not take long for her earlier pleasure at the sight of Farthen Dûr and Tronjheim to slip away before it was replaced by pain as the memories of her departure from Ellesméra came back to her.

Her left shoulder ached with the pain of the indigo tattoo that was etched onto her left shoulder but she did not do anything to heal her shoulder. It was customary to let the skin heal itself to serve as a lingering reminder of the great obligation that she had undertaken. Shifting her bow and quiver on her back, she winced slightly as the skin on her left shoulder burned, the stinging pain erupting through her entire back.

"Does it hurt much?"

Turning, Arya blinked at the sight of her father making his way towards her holding a shiny sword in one hand. He was not being followed by the other elf lords and ladies and neither was he accompanied by his mate. Her heart clenched as she thought of her mother's absence.

"Father," she said glad that he had come to see her off despite her mother's proclamation a week earlier when she had gone to them to inform them of her decision. What ensued between mother and daughter was a battle of wills. However, she had not thought her mother would have gone as far as to exile her from her presence. Be that as it may, this was her decision and she was not going to let anyone else tell her otherwise. A decade of contemplation had been enough. She did not want to waste any more time.

"How is your left shoulder feeling?" asked Evandar as his eyes darted to her left shoulder with a slight frown.

"It still stings from the pain of the tattoo but it shall wear away eventually with time," said Arya. She floundered on the spot for a moment before she spoke once more. "Is mother…?"

Seeing her hesitancy, her father merely smiled at her sadly. "There is a source of your stubbornness Arya," he said softly. She nodded feeling her throat constrict. Her mother truly was not going to see her off. Swallowing the deep hurt that erupted in her heart, she nodded.

"Will she not be angered at you for seeing me off?" asked Arya.

Her father merely chuckled. "I believe I know how to handle myself well around an angry mate," said Evandar before his gray eyes grew soft. "In any case, what father will allow his princess to leave his protection for the first time in her life without wishing her luck? Certainly not me."

"Father…" She was at a loss for words as she stared at her kind father. And not for the first time in her life, a sense of pride filled her at the thought of being his daughter.

"It will be a dangerous journey Arya and you have declined the company of guards that I had offered you," said Evandar with a slight frown as he thought of her stubbornness. Arya fought the urge to feel chastised by her father. It was not that she was overconfident in her abilities that she did not need guards outside of Du Weldenvarden, it was just the fact that she wanted to see the world on her own.

"I shall be fine," Arya reassured him.

Evandar merely stared at her for a long moment before he nodded. Then he held up the slim sword in his hand to her. She stared at the blade. "It is one of the most ancient blades in our history, Arya. There are wards casted about the metal so that it would ensure you ease in battle when wielding it."

Astonishment coursed through her at being presented such a gift from her father. Surely, he could have done with a regular blade. When she made to protest, his expression immediately became stern. "You will be embarking on a dangerous journey and though you denied my offer to have guards sent with you at least take this sword so that you may be better protected."

Hesitating for a moment longer, she nodded and reached out to take the sword letting herself become acquainted to the light weight of the weapon. Then she slipped the sword into her belt on her right hip seeing as she fought with her left hand. "Thank you father," said Arya sincerely. "I shall wield it well."

"As I know you will," he said gently before reaching out with a hand to caress her face. She blinked at the gesture of affection. It was not that she was foreign to her parents' love and care, it only served to reinforce the fact that her parents were no longer going to be a great part of her life from this point on. She blinked rapidly as she held her father's gaze. "Be safe Arya."

"I promise you."

He smiled at her before with his strong arms swept her up in an embrace. Reminded of her childhood days, she returned his embrace as she swore to herself then that she would leave and come back to Ellesméra to make her father proud…even if her mother denied her actions and had exiled her as a result of them. She leaned her head against her father's shoulder and blinked when the stinging pang from her left shoulder erupted through her back once more. This time, however, she ignored it.

She sighed as she stared about the spacious living quarters that the dwarves had given to her. It was located in a hidden hallway that she had overlooked and only when Orik had pointed it out to her did she take notice of the hallway. The only other inhabitant it appeared that shared the hallway was Eragon as she was informed by Orik.

_Eragon…_

He had not said much to her during their short time together after a near decade of not seeing one another. Yet, that was to be expected for they were surrounded by prying eyes and ears. He was different and yet he was still the same. It was difficult to explain even to herself but as she sat beside him in the spacious rectangular room in which only a long, rectangular marble table occupied she could not help but think of what it was that had happened to him over the ten years he had spent serving the Varden. There was a serious air about him and he was quick to take the wind out of the sails of the Council of Elders and yet whenever his gaze landed on her, there was a sense of relief in his eyes that pulled at her.

Why was that?

Taking a seat on a cushioned couch in her living room, she glanced about. Having already unpacked her things into her new chambers, there was nothing left for her to do and though she wanted to see Tronjheim more, she dared not overstep her bounds by wandering freely as of yet. Content to just letting the knowledge of being in Tronjheim be enough to satisfy her curiosity for the day, she was about to take to her texts that she had brought along with her before a knock on her door drew her attention.

Curious as to who it was, she stood and went to answer her door to find a short curly haired woman standing before her. "Ah, so you are the new elven ambassador," she said with a smile, her eyes gleaming as she gazed up at Arya. "My, my, you are quite different from the resident elf that has come to reside within the Varden."

"And who might you be?" asked Arya curiously, wondering where such a person had found such courage to speak so comfortably about Eragon.

"You may call me Angela," she introduced herself amiably. Struck by how at ease Angela was in her presence, she merely gazed at the woman as she began to chatter about. Eventually, she caught herself and tossed Arya an apologetic look. "Where are my manners? May I inquire as to who you are?"

"Arya," she inclined her head to Angela.

"I see," Angela nodded to herself thoughtfully. Her eyes took Arya in from head to toe making her feel like a specimen being examined before she spoke. "I would say that Eragon does not make for a very good impression of an elf when being compared to you."

"What is it that you mean?" asked Arya with a raised brow.

"Oh, well, he's very…how should I say this?" she pondered for a moment. "Let us say that he—"

"Angela," the two of them turned to find Eragon strolling towards them with a slight frown on his face. "When Weldon said that we needed to be courteous to the new elven ambassador, he meant you as well. However loosely related you are to the Varden, I believe harassment of any sort to our ambassador would not sit well with Weldon."

"It appears as if the saying killjoy is a fit description for him," said Angela with a grin. "In any case, I have come to see what I wanted. I shall no doubt see you about, Arya." With that said she left in the opposite direction.

Stopping before her open door, Eragon was staring after Angela's back with a slightly amused expression before he shook his head. "Were you resting Arya?" He turned to her, his voice ringing deep chords of memories within her.

"No," she shook her head before remembering something. "There is a missive that King Evandar has asked that I give you." Leaving his side for a moment, she returned a minute later with a scroll in her hand tied shut by an emerald ribbon. Arya handed it to him.

"I shall make sure to read over it," he said tucking the missive away. He paused and then continued. "It is good to see that you are well Arya."

"You as well," she spared him a smile before her expression grew serious. "I have a favor to ask of you Eragon."

"If it is within my power, I shall see to it if I can help you."

"Will you keep my title a secret? I do not wish for it to become common knowledge here," said Arya softly.

He nodded, his expression solemn. "Of course, if that is what you wish." She nodded and a comfortable silence fell over them before Eragon spoke once more. "Were you planning on resting anytime soon?"

She shook her head watching as a side of his lips curved upwards.

"If you are not too busy then perhaps I can show you Tronjheim. I doubt you were able to see much earlier," said Eragon and like that, the small part of her heart which had grown attached to his stories thrummed with warmth.

"I would like to see it," said Arya softly watching as he smiled down at her as if expecting her answer to be so. As they walked side by side each other with Eragon telling her about the wonders of Tronjheim, a sense of freedom came to her once more as well as a strange sense of familiarity—almost as if she had done this before but from a forgotten time. Eyes darting to Eragon, she took in his appearance and could not help but relax as she listened to his stories over the past decade.

**For those who have read RL and enjoyed the characterization of Arya in that story, the Arya in this story will slowly shift into that character once more but perhaps not as similar but still with the same personality. And if this Arya seems off just remember that she's OC for a bit and she's still seventy years younger than the Arya we've all come to know. Not to mention with Eragon changing the timeline, things are bound to be different. In any case, Arya and Eragon are reunited and we even got to see Fäolin a little bit in this chapter **but...his** relationship to Arya has yet to be clearly explained. In any case I hope to see you all soon!**


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

**Well, there wasn't really much to say apart from one thing really. There have been questions concerining Arya, Eragon, and Fäolin . And I shall say this like I did in the last note some chapters back, this story is definitely ExA. But it's not going to be a smooth ride. Like one reviewer said, Eragon is going to have to work to get Arya. In RL, she just sort of came to him and in this story that won't be the case for Eragon. Just putting that thought out there. In any case enjoy the chapter everyone, R&R.**

Running alongside Arya, Eragon glanced back at the startled and awed faces of the rest of their company. In the past decade, he had never truly showed anyone else his speed apart from the encounter with Darius but now with Arya serving once more as her father's ambassador there was no need to ride a steed that he could easily overcome in speed. Though he could not entirely account the men's expressions to be based only on him. If anything, it appeared as if Arya was the one causing the stir amongst the soldiers. They were not used to seeing a well-endowed female in appearance, knowledge, magic, and strength. And though it had been nine months since her arrival, her presence was still enough to stop those in their work so that they could admire her, men and women alike.

The last nine months with Arya had been enough. Though he was busy with training the younger members of Du Gata Vrangr and the soldiers as well as accomplishing tasks set forth by Weldon, he had always managed to see her, even if it was a mere glimpse, at least once a day to remind himself that she was there. His task was only made easier with the fact that she lived in the quarters directly across from him. He felt himself smile slightly as his eyes darted to Arya as she ran beside him, not breaking in stride nor showing any signs of tiring. His mind wandered back to the missive that she had given him when she'd first arrive.

While King Evandar had spoken to Eragon as a close friend, he had also asked Eragon to see to Arya's wellbeing since she was now alone in a new environment. It would have no doubt irritated Arya to be watched over but he made sure to do so and maintain his distance as well so that she would not become overly suspicious about his intentions.

Arya, Eragon observed, was very different amongst the Varden and yet he saw similar characteristics to when she was part of the Varden in his time. She kept her distance from others but she was most certainly not aloof. There was a sense of innocence to her that had yet to be washed away by the stains of blood. _If my memories serve me correctly, _thought Eragon as his eyes narrowed as he stared forward, _this would be around the time when she would take her first life._

"Sir!" one of their runners on horseback came forward from the left flank, keeping pace with Weldon on his charger. "A band of Urgals have been spotted making their way here!"

"Urgals?" From where he was running beside Arya, he could see the trouble look on Weldon's face as he took in the information.

It was Irvine who spoke next as he rode on his stallion to Weldon's right. "My lord, we must keep going. If we leave be they may decide that we are not worth the effort and I believe that our forces are much too large for a band of Urgals to challenge even if they are creatures of great strength."

Weldon nodded turning back to the runner. "Relay my orders to the rest of the company. Tell them that we shall not stop unless we are forced to." With that said, the soldier pulled on the reins of his horse before turning about to yell the order to the soldiers marching. Eragon's frown deepened. He knew well enough that the Urgals were not going to submit. Truth be told, he had not given the Urgals much consideration. He had thought about seeking them out but the timing would be too soon. There was no common force that was uniting them. A desire to see to the end of Galbatorix was not enough to bring all the races together. They needed a symbol.

They needed a Dragon Rider.

_The eggs…_He could find the tunnel to steal them from Galbatorix but then it would be still too early to do so. If they were in possession of the eggs for too long and they did not hatch, it would only serve to dishearten the Varden and cause even more tension. He would have to plan it correctly for it to work but just as he was thinking of a suitable solution to go about the eggs, he heard a horn go off to alert them of the coming danger.

Immediately Weldon signaled for them to stop and they did so turning to their left to spot a sizable band of Urgals traveling towards them, their heads bowed and their horns bared at them. It was almost too much to ask for a peaceful journey to Surda thought Eragon as he reached for his swords. Unsheathing them with ease, he turned to find Arya watching the group of Urgals with a slight expression of hesitancy in her eyes. Staring at her, a great part of him wanted to protect her from the fighting. His hands tightened on the pommel of his swords as he shook his head to himself. Arya could take care of herself. Treating her as a damsel in distress would only serve to anger her.

Turning away from her, he turned his sights to the band of Urgals making their way towards them. They did not relent in their run as war cries were uttered from them. Seeing this Weldon turned, lifting his sword skyward as he pointed it to the Urgals. A second passed before the sky was filled with arrows. He watched as the barrage of arrows flew through the sky seemingly suspended by time before they arched downwards with great speed, plucking off the Urgals who had not moved to guard themselves.

A second barrage of arrows was released before the first Urgal came too close to be effectively stopped by arrows. Instead, Weldon turned to Eragon and nodded his head. "Those under Eragon's command engage the enemy! Everyone else move back and protect the carts!"

Arya, who had always been one to decide for herself, turned to Eragon with a fierce expression. "I shall be fighting as well."

He nodded grimly and without another words signaled for his men to move forward. Though there were those who rode on horseback, Eragon was the quickest of them with Arya falling not short behind. Lifting up Brisingr to arch his sword behind his back, he made his way to the center. Shifting Vrangr in his hand, he held his sword up straight against his body. Easily sliding past the first Urgal, he waited and then bending his knees jumped forward, his swords moving with his body as he sailed through the air, spinning at a great speed.

Within the blink of an eye, he had fell seven Urgals faster than anyone could possibly keep track of. Grimacing at the blood that stained his clothes, he glanced at Vrangr as his sword pulsed a deadly violet. Readying his swords once more, he leapt forward towards the heart of the fray and using his speed and strength, he swiftly cut his opponents down faster than anyone could hope to compare to.

The fighting took no longer than a few minutes and when it was done, Eragon had taken a quick count of his men and was satisfied to see that they were all still alive apart from a few scrapes and bruises. Sheathing his blades, he tugged his cloak into place about his shoulders frowning at the blood that soaked the fabric. Contemplating for a few seconds, he reached up and ripped his cloak off tossing the soiled material to the side. There was no use in wearing that anymore.

"Return to your positions!" Eragon called to the soldiers who had engaged in the fighting, all of which were primarily from their left flank. The sound of sheathing swords and shifting shields met his ears before they did as they were ordered and fell back into formation.

Moving to follow them, he paused as he caught sight of Arya. She was unharmed but there was blood that lined her forearms, evidence of the fighting that she was involved in moments earlier. Frowning to himself, he continued on his way falling back into position on Weldon's left. A few seconds passed before Arya came up beside him, her expression appearing the slightest bit troubled. Knowing what it was that was passing through her mind, he could only offer her his presence as a source of comfort.

It did not take long for them to continue with their formation after the brief skirmish with the Urgals. While Eragon had no qualms about killing, he could tell that Arya was greatly distracted by the thought. Though she had kept her expression indifferent during their march, he could tell from the way her brows furrowed slightly that she was troubled. _What was she thinking? _He wanted to ask her but a part of him didn't want to push her for her thoughts.

Frowning, he turned to face the front as they pushed on towards Surda.

"What does she mean?" muttered Eragon as he stared at the list that Angela had given him that night. She had insisted or rather _demanded _that since he was on his way to Surda with Weldon that the least he could do was gather the necessary items that she required for some sort of _experimentation _that she wanted to carry out.

He stared at the list that she had written for him once more not even sure if half of the items that she had written down was even purchasable in Surda. Frowning intently, Eragon shook his head. _If this is a joke on Angela's part, _he thought to himself darkly. It would not be far off to think if the witch had deliberately written down false items to make his head hurt. As he was contemplating where he sat before the camp fire that he had built before his tent, he blinked when he heard the soft sound of boots.

"May I join you?"

He glanced up recognizing the voice anywhere. Arya stood off to the side, hesitantly. Blinking in surprise, Eragon nodded. This was the first time that he and Arya had traveled together since he had joined the Varden. Unsure of how to act, he merely sat there forgetting about the piece of parchment that he held in his hand.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Arya take a seat not far from him, her legs pulled up, with her arms wrapped around them and her chin resting on her knees. For a moment, he was struck with a memory of how once before she had sat like so before him. The two of them sat there, letting the fire crackle away as the sounds of the camp drifted over towards them. As always during any sort of excursion, he'd set up tent away from the main body of the camp for a moment of reprieve away from prying eyes. Knowing that he was alone with Arya made it all the harder to focus his thoughts.

"What is that parchment you are holding?" asked Arya, her green eyes studying the object in his hands.

"It is a list that Angela has given me," he turned the parchment about to show her the messy scrawls. "She'd asked that I retrieve the items she has written." Turning it about in his hand once more, he took one last glance at the list before folding the parchment and tucking it away. Instead, he merely stared at the fire with a pensive expression waiting to see if Arya had a purpose to coming to him so late at night.

Eventually his patience was rewarded when he heard her shift, her quiet voice carrying through the quiet night air. "Does it bother you when you kill?"

He lifted his head and turned to stare at her. Despite her placid exterior, he saw a shine of desperation in her emerald eyes and knew that she was bothered by what she had done today. He had not seen her fighting for he had been to enrapt in his own fighting with the Urgals but her question and her mood after the fighting was enough to tell him that she had taken her first life. Remembering how alone she had been in his time, he felt his resolve harden. He would not let Arya be burdened even if it was by her own sorrows and troubles. It was the least he could do for her after everything she had done for him in his future.

"I would be lying if I said it did," said Eragon watching as bewilderment clouded Arya's eyes at his words. He thought for a long moment, reaching down to pluck at the blades of grass beneath his fingers. "Or rather, perhaps I do not know any more if killing does bother me. I have killed for some time now, Arya. Long before I came to reside in Ellesméra…" He paused trying to find words to explain to her what he thought of killing. He was being truthful when he said that killing did not bother him much. Or perhaps, he had long accepted the fact that he would always be a killer and to dwell over every life he'd taken would only serve to be his undoing. "The first time I had taken a life, I was much younger than you Arya…I was barely three years past my first decade—no older than a child."

"What happened?" she seemed hesitant to ask but he could tell that she was entranced by his story and if it was enough to keep her thoughts from turning dark, he would not deny her.

Picking up the blades of grass that he had plucked from the earth, he straightened slightly where he sat and began to twist the blades about his fingers. "When I was younger," he began trying to find ways to tell her about his tortures without giving away too much information. "I was imprisoned by a group of magicians and after a year of _enduring _their tortures, a part of me snapped. In my rage, I killed them." His fingers stopped for a moment, eyes narrowing as he tried to think of what more to say.

"It bothered me then," said Eragon eventually speaking where he had left off. "What was life? What was its value? Certainly, it should be priceless and yet, I'd stolen it from several people. I thought I would go mad with thought that I had committed a violation against nature. It didn't take long for me to realize though that if I had not fought then I would have been the one to die…" He stopped once more trying to collect his thoughts. He did not want to appear as an apathetic person who was both cruel and cold hearted to Arya but neither did he want to give her a false façade of who he really was.

Stilling his hands, he turned to stare at Arya. His heart pounded when his eyes met hers. "This world is merciless, Arya," he thought of the constant struggles between the weak and the strong, the oppressed and the oppressors, and the looming knowledge that death was not inevitable. "And yet, it is very beautiful." In his mind, he saw Saphira, Arya, his family, and so much more. "We can only look at it whichever way we want to. I made my decision long ago that I would look towards the more beautiful side of life."

"What happened today would have happened regardless of our intentions," brows creasing slightly, he returned to the blades of glass in his hands. "The Urgals insisted on trying to win honor and glory to better their standings within their tribes and though we had wanted to pass them, they came to us. The better question is if what you did was justified…the answer, however, is only found within each individual…"

"I see," Arya murmured deep in thought, her arms tightening around her legs.

"Breathing helps too," added Eragon softly. Her eyes flickered to him and away and he watched as she took in a deep breath trying to still her mind of what it was that was afflicting her.

Letting Arya try to ease her mind, he turned to the half-finished object in his hand. With ease, he continued to twine the blades of grass about each other. When he was done, he lifted his hand up slightly and with a soft murmur of "Flauga," watched as the small dragon made of grass blades take flight.

He watched as the dragon flew about the fire before gliding towards Arya. She lifted her hand and the grass dragon circled her fingers in a loop three times before it veered off into the darkness, flying wherever there were plants so that it could keep itself afloat. She stared at it for a long moment. Then as if realizing where it was that she was sitting, Arya turned back to glance at him with a slight tilt of her chin and an unreadable expression.

"Thank you."

Eragon merely smiled at her and they continued to sit there together not speaking but merely taking comfort in each other's presence. And Eragon continued to sit there, long until after Arya had left. He was content to merely staring at the fire until he felt a strangeness to the air. Frowning at the odd feeling he was getting, he rose to his feet. The camp appeared fine and without any signs of panic but there was something more that bothered him. Unsheathing Brisingr, he made his way towards the valley not far off.

He had barely taken two steps before he heard the rustle of bushes to his right, immediately Eragon whirled about Brisingr ready in his hands.

"Stop!"

Blinking at the sound of the familiar rough voice, he waited for the person to pull themselves free of the bush and was promptly surprised to find himself facing Brom but older than he had last seen him. Now he was in his early fifth decade and his brown hair was starting to show signs of gray. His face which had been young the last time Eragon had set sights on him was now beginning to show lines. It was a shock to see his father once more and his mind could not help but try and compare the different appearances of Brom all at once as it tried to find a common face to match with the name.

"Brom?" not releasing his hold on Brisingr, he lowered his sword slightly as his father broke free of the bush.

"I am glad you did not see fit to cleave me in twain before you made such a realization," Brom said drily causing Eragon to bristle on the spot.

"Have you come to be insulting?" asked Eragon with narrowed eyes as he watched Brom dust himself off to rid the dirt that clung to his clothes which were worn from traveling. He took a moment to take in his father's appearance. He wore traveling clothes that were dark allowing him to easily blend into the night if he wished to and a sword hung at his left hip.

"I had thought that after all the time you have spent amongst the Varden you would become more welcome to blunt mannerism," said Brom his sapphire eyes as sharp as they were when Eragon had first met him.

"Why are you here?" asked Eragon ignoring Brom's remark. "I had thought you were busying yourself with trying to do away with the Forsworn. Last I heard about you was that you had managed to kill Sasha and her dragon."

Recently he had heard word from Weldon that Brom had managed to kill the Forsworn for he had effectively managed to corner her without any form of escape and had somehow managed to slip past her wards to kill her, therefore ending both her life and her dragon's. What bothered Eragon was how Brom made no mentions of the Eldunarí.

_Unless Galbatorix is not letting the Forsworn use the Eldunarí of their own volition, _thought Eragon. It was a thought to be contended with for Galbatorix in all of his paranoia would not give his means of power to others if that could possibly mean him being overwhelmed.

"I did but that does not mean that it is finished and done with," said Brom gruffly. "Her mate has come for vengeance."

"Mate?" asked Eragon surprised. He had not known that two of the Forsworn were mates.

"An elf by the name of Aegnor," said Brom. The way he said it and his expression did not bode well thought Eragon as he studied Brom. He took a look at his travel worn clothing and his sweaty face and narrowed sapphire eyes. It appeared as if he was running. Brows furrowed, Eragon could not help but feel a slight sense of apprehension wash over him as he asked his next question.

"Are you being pursued?"

A loud bellow was the answer to his question. Instantly the entire camp was alerted to the presence of the dragon. Sparing Brom a look, he glanced up as the lanterns about the camp flared to life and the soldiers hurriedly woke and those that were patrolling instantly had their swords drawn.

"You had thought the best solution was to bring him here?" asked Eragon with a raised brow as he questioned his father's thoughts. Brom did not speak but rather he turned his head skyward to stare at the large figure that was beginning to descend on their camp. Lifting his head to stare in the same direction, he thought for a moment of what Brom had just told him. This Aegnor was coming for revenge due to his mate's death and for a moment he could sympathize with him. If something were to ever happen to Arya, he would abandon all thought and blindly race after the cause of her death and avenge her. But this was a Forsworn.

_Could they love?_

It was a curious question. He did not think the Forsworn were capable of love and for a moment he wondered about his mother and Morzan. Though he knew that his mother loved Morzan blindly at first, he wanted to know whether or not Morzan had returned her affections. Did he love her at one point in his time or had he only lusted for her? The thought of Morzan treating his mother as a mere tool made his blood boil.

"Eragon," he blinked turning to find Brom gripping his arm. "I need your help in order to defeat Aegnor and his dragon."

"What is it?" asked Eragon with a frown as the cries of the soldiers grew louder. Above them the night sky was suddenly illuminated by a torrent of flames tinged silver and in the split second in which the flames raced across the night sky, he caught sight of the dragon. The dragon was far larger than Saphira but not enough to outdo Glaedr and Shruikan but even then it was still a formidable foe.

"I shall distract Aegnor. When you see an opening take it," said Brom with hard eyes.

"And how do you plan on distracting Aegnor?" asked Eragon with a frown.

"Love can be blind, even to the sense of danger," said Brom and with that said, he turned and began to move away from the camp yelling a string of curses at Aegnor. Eragon blinked standing there for a moment before his feet propelled him into action. There was no time to wait. He had already let his chance of killing Darius pass nearly four years earlier and now that a Forsworn had come to them in a blind rage, he would not let another opportunity pass.

Entering the camp, he saw that Weldon was standing by his command tent giving orders and Arya was beside him. Instantly, he made to Weldon's side. "Weldon," Eragon called running up to him. The leader of the Varden turned his head to face Eragon, relief spreading across his face.

"Eragon, good you are here," said Weldon with a nod, "We—"

"Do not attack, leave this to me," said Eragon cutting Weldon off before he could speak.

"That is sheer madness," Weldon shook his head. "You are strong Eragon but to ask only you to fight against a dragon and its Rider is too much. No, I am sending the soldiers out to fight."

"They are too weak," Eragon argued frowning. "I am not saying this out of discrimination nor prejudice but a human soldier can do little against a Forsworn. If you send your men in now, you are sending them to their deaths as if you have killed them yourself."

He could see the slight hesitation in Weldon's eyes but he knew the thoughts of pointless deaths did not sit well with the leader of the Varden. Knowing that he only needed a few more words to persuade Weldon Eragon continued. "Brom is here and he has a strategy devised. Leave the Forsworn to the two of us and instead focus on strengthening our camp, we do not know if any reinforcements were brought."

At the mention of Brom, Weldon appeared to ease up but it was Irvine who was the deciding factor. "I say we trust in Eragon's judgment. He has yet to do us wrong and he may understand how to fight a Forsworn better than anyone else."

"Very well," nodded Weldon though he was still frowning at the idea. "See to it that you return victorious Eragon."

He nodded and turned to leave, catching sight of Arya's worried emerald eyes. Then without a second glance back, he began to sprint through the camp and towards the direction Brom had taken off in with Aegnor in pursuit.

_Why is it different this time?_

During the time they had spent together, however short it was, Arya had told him much of her past life and she had never told him of an encounter with the Forsworn. Yet, it was happening and there was no explanation for it apart from the fact that his presence had somehow managed to trigger a change in events.

_Brom better not have gotten himself killed._

If his father died in the fighting then his entire existence would be a mere thing of the past. Scowling at the thought, he hurried forward as the sound of the fighting floated over to him. Turning about, he ran into a clearing that was surrounded by the mountains on the opposite side. Running about and dodging torrents of flames and orbs of silver magic was Brom and he was yelling incessantly at Aegnor.

"Did you even love her? How could you love anyone but yourself? Admit it, you did not love her. You just love the power she gave you!"

He heard a ferocious snarl as he neared before another flash of light illuminated the clearing. Blinking against the bright light Eragon made to move forward but stopped when he heard a loud bellow and bearing down on him from above was a silver scaled dragon. Lunging out of the way as the great body landed on the ground sending tremors through the earth, Eragon blinked momentarily having forgotten about the dragon.

Moving his feet backwards, he reached up with his left hand to pull Vrangr free of its sheath. Holding his swords out before him, he blinked trying to approximate the space he had to maneuver about the dragon. While Aegnor was busy trying to wipe Brom's existence from Alagaësia, he had let his dragon defenseless. And while it was still a dragon, its mind was primitive as that of any other beast and that was where Eragon had the advantage.

Running forward, he easily dodged a swipe by the silver dragon's paws. Since they were on land, Eragon had the upper advantage when it came to fighting. Blades flashing, he continued to sprint about the dragon and while he was trying his best to keep up with Eragon, he left his right flank open. Seeing an opportunity for him, Eragon grimaced as his hold on Brisingr tightened.

Letting his speed carry him about the dragon's large body, he bent his knees leaning to his right side to allow his feet to slide against the grass. Holding Brisingr out, he arched his sword inwards and with a clean swipe sunk his blade into flesh.

Blinking rapidly as a spray of sizzling blood coated his right side, he continued until Brisingr cleanly sliced the right foreleg cleanly off causing the dragon to hollow in pain. Unable to block in time, a large tail came out and caught him in the midsection sending him flying backwards. Though his wards protected him from the brunt of the blow, the ache that it left behind was enough to daze him. Coughing against the sudden loss of breath, he rolled to his feet to see the dragon limping as he bellowed in agony.

There was a slight flurry of movement as his large wings began to spread outwards showing signs that he was about to take flight. _I won't let you escape! _Without a second thought, he darted forward sheathing Vrangr and Brisingr as he did so. And just as the dragon pushed off from the ground Eragon leapt into the air and managed to grab a hold of his left foreleg as he took flight. Squinting against the rushing wind, he grunted when the dragon did an intricate flip in the air nearly throwing him off. Refusing to lose his grip, he tightened his hold around the foreleg and when he was confident enough, he began to climb his way upward. A combination of the rushing wind as well as the movement of the dragon was nearly enough to send him flying off.

What the dragon forgot, however, was that Eragon was also a Rider and he understood how to fly atop a dragon's back even if it was struggling. Grabbing a spike, he began the slow process of pulling himself up to the saddle. The silver dragon suddenly took a left dip to the side nearly impaling him on one of its spikes.

Using his feet against the side of its body for balance, he gritted his teeth before he resumed his climb once more and eventually after much struggle he climbed onto the saddle. The daunting task had yet to come. Heaving in a deep breath, Eragon inched forward his heart pounding as he thought of what it was that he was going to do. Careful to remain atop of the dragon, he slowly inched forward drawing Brisingr from its sheath and when he was close enough to stab through the neck, the world suddenly tipped as they were dipped forward.

Nearly flying from his seated position, he hurriedly grabbed onto a spike with his free hand as the dragon began to dive towards the ground trying to use his speed and momentum to throw Eragon off. Hanging from the spike, his body propelled upwards from the gust of wind, he winced at the pain that went through his left shoulder and when it became too much to bear, he simply let go. Immediately he began to fall past the silver dragon and the moment he reached his head, Eragon twisted, Brisingr flashing in night followed by a wet squelch and a tremendous bellow filled with such agony that it was enough to give time pause.

_I'm sorry, _thought Eragon pulling Brisingr free of the skull. Fanning his arms and legs out beside him to keep from falling too rapidly, he turned as the motionless body of the silver dragon tumbled through the air, his wings no longer keeping him up.

A dull booming thud sounded through the vicinity as the large body collided with the earth, lifeless. A few seconds later, he would have been crushed by his fall but with the use of magic he was able to gently land onto the ground and the moment he did, he brought Brisingr up to parry a fatal blow to the head.

Before him standing in the dim light that the crescent moon casted down on them was a male elf, his face contorted in pain and pure rage as he beheld Eragon. Tears filled his eyes but Eragon was unmoved. "You chose this," said Eragon as he batted away Aegnor's sword. "Had you not decided to follow Galbatorix, you could have still had a dragon and a mate to love and cherish."

Words seemed beyond Aegnor for the elf blindly rushed at him yelling with his voice filled with emotion. Not having to draw Vrangr from its sheath, he easily sidestepped and parried another blow that Aegnor delivered to him and bringing up his left leg, slammed his leg into the elf's stomach sending him flying backwards his sword falling from his grip.

Aegnor's grief and rage made it easy for him to see an opening thought Eragon as he followed the elf who easily flipped about in the air to land on his feet skidding a few paces. Not allowing him to regain his lost weapon, he started forward and dodging a ball of pulsing silver energy flourished Brisingr in his hand.

Breaking through Aegnor's wards, Brisingr sliced through the center of the elf's chest and broke free on the other side.

There was a grunt of pain from Aegnor who was fighting to retain what little life he had left in him. His hand holding Brisingr tightened. Eragon waited. He heard a gurgled sound coming from Aegnor before a soft voice spoke in the ancient language. "I suppose this is my…atonement…"

His body sagged and fell backwards off of Brisingr, hitting the ground softly. Heart still racing from the suddenness of everything, Eragon blinked as he stared at the dark outline of Aegnor at his feet. Had he done it? Had he really killed Aegnor and his dragon? It seemed too quick. It seemed too impossible. But Brom had known—had known that Aegnor in his grief would be an easy target to pluck off and he was right.

Taking a moment to gather his wits, he opened is right palm. "Naina," a sapphire werelight came into existence in his palm. The sight that greeted him was chaos incarnate. It was as if someone had decided to take red paint and splatter it about what used to be a green clearing. Keeping his werelight aloft in the air, he took a glance down at Aegnor.

The fair elf appeared to be as if he was asleep but there was no rise or fall of his chest that was evident of sleep. Staring at the Forsworn for a moment longer, he turned and began to make his way to the motionless silver dragon. Moving about the body, he came to a stop by the saddlebag and after ripping it apart he blinked. There was no Eldunarí.

Frowning to himself, he threw the leather aside. What was Galbatorix thinking? Did he even give his Forsworn the Eldunarí or perhaps he kept the souls to himself? Sheathing Brisingr, he turning wincing when his hand landed on dragon blood, the crimson liquid burning his flesh.

Now to find Brom. Moving through the blood soaked clearing, he turned at the sound of a groan and saw his father stirring on the ground. There was a gash on the side of his head but apart from that he appeared whole.

"Still alive?" asked Eragon wryly as he gazed down at Brom.

The man blinked four times before his blue eyes came into focus, sweeping about the clearing. A pained expression came onto his face at the sight of the motionless dragon but he said nothing more as he made his way to his feet.

"More or less," with a groan he straightened rolling his shoulders as he did so.

"You never answered my question," said Eragon as he observed Brom. "Why did you bring Aegnor to the Varden?"

"Simple, you were here," said Brom as he bent down to retrieve his sword. "It would be easier to dispatch of a Forsworn with another Rider. Even though we do not have our dragons, we are still Riders."

_So that was why…_

Not saying anything, he turned away from Brom to take a look at the scene once more and deep in his heart he felt a dull pain in chest at what he had done. Feeling his hands sting, he lifted them to see the skin drenched in blood.

_Once a murderer always a murderer._

**I have been feeling a write's muse for some reason. I don't know but lately when I write, I just seem to trail off lost in thought. Hopefully this doesn't turn into a writer's block of some sort (those of you who read RL know how bad my writer's blocks are :p) In any case, I shall continued diligently writing this story. But back to this chapter. There will be some Forsworn that I barely mention and then there shall be some that her more ingrained into the story (i.e. Morzan, Formora, Darius, etc). Everyone is just going to have to wait to see what happens. I'm going to try to make the time jumps less frequent (we have about seventy years left to write) every now and then so that I could work on characterization. But apart from that I hope to see you all soon.**


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

**So here's another chapter done and it's more of a filler to the last chapter. There wasn't really anything that stood out to me in the reviews that I wanted to clear up so I believe that all of you guys can go ahead and enjoy the chapter! And keep a watch out for some references to RL! R&R!**

"Nothing can be done about the body," said Weldon as he observed the bloody scene before them with a frown. When Eragon had thought the scene appeared gruesome with his werelight, it was nothing compared to the distorted vision he saw before him as he took in the sight of the silver dragon's body as well as Aegnor beneath the morning sunlight. "It is simply too large to move."

"Someone will find the body and word of his death will spread like fire throughout the Empire," said Irvine as he tentatively stepped about the silver dragon's large tail.

"Which is what we are aiming to accomplish," said Brom turning to face Weldon. "It'll show the people of the Empire that the Varden is not a force to be taken lightly. If anything it would incite others who are tired of Galbatorix's despondent rule to come join us."

Not paying much attention to them, Eragon began to make his way about the body of the dragon towards where Aegnor laid. Arya stood over the elf, staring down at him with an unreadable expression and for a moment Eragon wanted to reach out to see what it was that was going on through her mind. Instead, he turned away from her and searched the ground until his eyes landed on the object that he sought. Lying in the grass was a silver blade. He reached down to pick it up glancing at the glyph that was on the blade. _Shadows._

"Sundavar," Eragon murmured turning the blade in his hand to study the light that gleamed off of it. Staring at the beautiful silver blade for a moment longer, he shook his head and turned to make his way over to where Aegnor laid. Arya was still standing over him, her emerald eyes appearing troubled. Stopping opposite her, he bent down and slid the scabbard of the sword from Aegnor's waist, sheathing Sundavar.

Straightening, he turned his eyes on Arya. "Does something bother you?"

Was she troubled that the Aegnor, an elf, was dead? Did it not sit well with her to see one of her people, no matter how traitorous he was, lifeless on the ground? He would ask her but she merely shook her head, saying in a quiet voice. "It is a strange sight, one that I am not used to," her emerald eyes flickered to the body of the silver dragon before returning to him and away.

Rather unsettled by her actions, he was about to ask her more when she turned her gaze back to him with a slight sad smile. Then her eyes drifted to the silver sword in his hand. "What do you plan on doing with his sword?"

"Return it to Rhunön," said Eragon as he eyed Sundavar. "I believe this sword has killed enough for the moment." Keeping the blade in his hands, he made to leave but paused as he took in the sight of Aegnor. _He was in love with another Forsworn, _thought Eragon with a slight frown. _He wanted revenge because Brom had killed her. _At the thought of his father, his eyes darted to the man and Eragon felt his frown deepen.

"Is something wrong?"

He was jolted out of his thoughts by Arya's voice. Turning his eyes to her, he blinked before shaking her head. "No, I was just reminded of someone," eyes darting back to Weldon, he gestured to her. "We should leave this area quickly. I have no doubt another Forsworn is about."

"That would be a logical plan," agreed Arya as the two of them set off to rejoin Weldon.

After asking about the sword to which Eragon gave him his intentions, Weldon had informed them that they would continue traveling and that they would not stop until they reached the border of Surda. A Forsworn would not dare fly into another country and risk war when Galbatorix was almost through implementing his authority over his Empire.

Yet there was something that bothered him. Though he could not exactly tell what, something was out of place. There was a strangeness to the air that unsettled him. _It is probably your mind, _Eragon told himself sternly as he ran beside Arya, who appeared to be much better than she did yesterday after the small skirmish with the Urgals.

Later that night as they were resting from having finally reached the borders of Surda, Eragon was eating a bowl of mushroom soup when Brom came to him. He paid his father no heed as he took a seat by the campfire beside him with a sound of relief. Eragon did not pay him much mind but he continued to eat his soup.

"You appear rather upset," said Brom breaking past all types of formalities. _That was right, _thought Eragon dryly, _father was always rather rude. _Mannerism seemed to escape Brom but he remembered a moment later that his father was originally from an isolated village to the west by the ocean. "Are you unhappy with something?"

"Unhappy?" he repeated to himself pausing as he ate. He wasn't even sure anymore. He had lived for the past decade devoting himself to fighting Galbatorix that there was little else to think about. Particularly his own feelings. After a long time, Eragon shook his head. "No, I do not believe I am unhappy."

"Then why is it that you look as if someone who has lost his way in life?" asked Brom.

"Do I?" questioned Eragon ignoring his sarcasm. Brom did not speak but merely waited for him to answer his question. Eating another spoonful of soup, he decided to merely wait and see if Brom would leave him to his solitude. But as time passed it became obvious that his father had no intentions of budging from where he sat. Finishing his soup, he place his empty bowl and wooden spoon on the ground, leaning his head back to stare up at the half moon.

After a long moment of silence in which only the crackling fire filled, Eragon spoke. "When you killed her, what did she say?"

"Sasha?"

Eragon nodded.

Brom appeared to think deeply, a frown on his face before he sighed, his age showing through his hard exterior. "She did not say much apart from some rather vile curses on my head, but I believe she wanted one last moment with Aegnor."

They fell quiet once more the two of them trying to let the realization sink in of what they had done. Though his heart faltered, his mind did not. It was cruel of them to rip apart mates but it was the only way. _If I begin to feel soft for my enemies it will only serve to hinder me, _thought Eragon but he could not help but think of Arya and how she had reacted when he had died in his time. Closing his eyes, he saw an image of her hunched over his body as she cried. For a moment, he heard her sobs ring through his ear and his heart clenched.

_Though they are my enemies, _thought Eragon his brows furrowed and his lips curled downwards in a rather morbid expression, _I would not wish the loss of a mate on anyone._

Brom's perceptive eyes flickered to him before he raised a brow. "Do not tell me that you are mourning her death."

"No," Eragon shook his head before he sighed. "I do not care about the Forsworn…The situation just reminds me of something in my past. That is all, nothing more." Clenching his hands, his eyes darted to the ruby of his ring on his left hand.

"What is that?"

"Your curiosity knows no boundaries does it, Brom?" asked Eragon with a faint smile as he remembered Oromis once telling him that his father was curious of much growing up and never seemed to cease his stream of questions.

"Well, what is it?" Brom repeated ignoring his question with a gruff voice.

"It reminded me that losing someone you love dearly is a painful ordeal," answered Eragon and that was all he said but it was enough for Brom did not say anymore. Instead, the two of them merely sat there quietly letting the silence of the night hover over them as they contemplated. _Are we any different? Us and the Forsworn…_

The following day of travel, he was quietly subdued as he ran beside Arya and she made no move to reach out to speak to him. _Why would she, _he thought almost bitterly as he ran beside her. He had killed Aegnor and his dragon in a show of reckless and brutality. Even though a part of Arya knew that killing was necessary, she no doubt disagreed with his aloof disposition when doing so. The only comfort he had during their traveling was the part of Arya's soul that was merged with him. He never was truly alone even though it seemed like it to him.

After two days of traveling, they had reached Aberon, the capital of Surda. While Weldon went to speak to the Queen of Surda, they were left to retrieve their cargo and wares for the Varden. Surveying the work, he turned his head to the side catching sight of Arya observing the city of Aberon for the first time in her life. He wanted to say something to her but was unsure of how to approach her now.

When he saw the slight tilt of her head, he immediately glanced away. He didn't want her to see him staring. A moment passed in which he merely observed the loading of the carts. After a moment, he turned to Marlow, one of the men under his command. "I shall leave things in your hands Marlow," said Eragon turning to leave. "If there is something that needs to be done, do so at your own discretion."

"Of course sir," Marlow answered respectfully. Then his brows furrowed. "Do you plan on going somewhere? Should you not take some of the men with you?"

"I shall be fine, Marlow," said Eragon with a slight nod of his head. Then turning about he began to make his way through Aberon, content to just walking through the streets. Letting his feet carry him down the streets of the markets, he ignored the looks he received from the inhabitants of the city and continued through the streets unsure of where it was that he wanted to go until he came upon a beautiful and radiant cathedral.

He paused staring up at the structure and the peaked entryway. Lining the sides of the cathedral were ornate mosaic glass windows and a carving of a god stared down at him from the top of the cathedral building. The only cathedral he had stepped foot in before was the one of Dras-Leona and even then it was involuntary. The beauty of that particular cathedral was tainted by the knowledge that the worshippers of Helgrind resided there. But there was something that seemed to draw him to this cathedral, a slight curiosity. Taking a step towards the cathedral, he paused at the sight of white rose bushes that bloomed beneath the windows.

_A white rose…_

Slowly approaching the rose bush, he reached down and gently plucked a white rose from the bush admiring the flower in his hands, his fingers deftly missing the thorns that protruded from the stem. Admiring the rose in his hand, he made his way up the steps of the cathedral and pushed the large wooden doors open.

The inside of the cathedral was just as beautiful as its exterior and there was something spiritually encompassing about the way the light angled inwards from the windows, causing the pews to shine brightly, their wood looking polished. With slow steps, he made his way forward, his boots thudding softly against the wooden floor of the cathedral.

He had never given much thoughts to cathedrals or any building built in order to worship a greater being that had never been proven to exist. Holding his rose in his hand, he continued forward. Eyes sweeping from the north transept to the south transept, he blinked when the warmth of the sunlight came down on him. He had never believed in any sort of divinity nor the thought of a god. There was just too much sadness, pain, and cruelty in the world to even consider that there was a higher being that was above such.

Walking past the empty, cushioned pews until he stood directly on the raised platform on of the apse, he titled his head back to take in the carved ceiling plated with what appeared to be gold. _Do you exist? _But as he had expected there was no answer to his question. Scoffing to himself he lifted the white rose in his hand towards the light watching as the sunlight that flowed through the mosaic windows distort about the rose, giving its petals a warm red glow.

"Would you be laughing at me?" wondered Eragon as he stared at the white rose. He could think of what Arya would say if he started kneeling before the altar praying for a better future. She would undoubtedly argue with him about the lack of evidence to support any theories of the divine. Just thinking of her response lightened the darkness, if only slightly. "I never stopped thinking of you…of all of you."

It was true. In the last ten years though he had been busy with shaping the Varden into an effective rebel group, his thoughts had always floated over to his past and though he did not mourn, nor wallow in his own pity, he always gave himself some time to think of them. "Because if I do not remember you, who will?" Who would remember Arya's cool indifference and her devotion to the death of her father? Who would remember Brom and his desires to become a better father? Who would remember Ella, his sweet baby sister? And who would remember Saphira, his dragon as he did?

He rolled the stem in his hand admiring the red glow upon the petals as if it were softly burning with a gentle flame. _Do you believe in miracles? _He remembered once asking Arya such a question and how she was caught off guard. He smiled thinking about her reaction as they sat side by side eating a feast held by the dwarves. _Even if I cannot come to bring myself to believe in gods nor can I prove the existence of miracles, I believe in Alagaësia._

There was a purpose to her agreeing to send him back in time. There was something that she knew and he didn't. Did she see in him defeating Galbatorix and winning? Did she see a brighter future? Closing his eyes, he focused on the feeling of Arya within him and her warmth willing his mind to construct an image of her before his eyes. _I want to see you, Arya. _His heart pounded as his mind wandered to Saphira. _I want to see the both of you._

After a long moment, he opened his eyes not understanding why it was that he felt disappointed when he found that he was still alone in the cathedral. What did he expect? That Arya would miraculously appear beside him as if sensing his underlying pain? He was beginning to grow fanciful of mere daydreams.

"I love you…" _Saphira…Arya…_There was so much he wanted to say but he found it hard for him to do so when his words would not be head by those he wanted it to be heard by. He twirled the rose in his fingers once more, content to merely standing there and admiring its beauty.

_Thud…_

The sound of the doors closing met his ears followed by the soft treading of feet on the wooden floor. He turned and felt his heart stop, begin erratically beating, and stop once more at the sight of Arya. Though she was dressed in her leather clothing that many women seemed to find highly inappropriate for her well-endowed framed, he could not help but find her more beautiful than any woman that may have walked down the aisle between the pews. The way the sunlight shone down on her made her look like a vision of perfection.

And suddenly, images of Arya began to flood through his mind. Flashes of skin, a face flushed with pleasure, glorious ebony hair splayed across white sheets, and read lips curved into a beautiful smile all flooded his mind. Finding it difficult to reel in his unruly thoughts, he did so but the warmth emanating from the part of Arya within him made it hard for him to concentrate.

The sound of her footsteps drew his attention once more and he turned to her and suddenly he was overcome by the image of Arya wearing a beautiful dress gliding towards him, the light from the windows softly embracing her petite figure. No matter how ridiculous the thought of Arya marrying was, he could not be help admire the vision of a beautiful bride in his mind. If she did believe in marriage, the sight of her gliding so effortlessly down the aisle would be sure enough to kill the groom on the spot. As it was, he found it difficult to breathe and he was wondering why his heart had not jumped out of his chest with the way it pounded in its cage.

"I apologize if I am bothering you," said Arya as she stepped up onto the platform beside him, the scent of crushed pine needles washing over him as another flash of memory burned through his mind. He fought to grit his teeth, trying to force his body into submission. He was sure that the Arya before him would not appreciate how he was thinking of her even if his Arya had given herself to him fully.

"No, you are not bothering me," said Eragon shaking his head to ease her worried. "I was just thinking to myself." His eyes flickered to the rose in his hand, he rolled the stem between his fingers once more studying the flower intently. _I am glad you came to find me. _"Is there something you needed from me Arya? Are the men finished with loading the carts?"

"They are still working," said Arya as she lifted her eyes to stare up at the ceiling in which a story of an all knowing god was overseeing the birth of a baby child was carved. He saw her lips curl downwards and could not help but want to laugh at the slightly displeased expression on her face.

"Do you believe in gods, Arya?" he could not help but ask her.

She turned her emerald eyes to him and in her deep irises he saw the signs of her distaste with the subject. "Elves do not believe in greater divinities," she said, her tone saying that such a statement was enough to prove her thoughts on the ideas of mythology and divinity.

"But I am asking you, Arya, not your people," said Eragon watching as her eyes sparkled curiously. She tilted her head to stare up at him and her brows furrowed slightly and her lips were pursed. He waited, intent on just reveling in her presence. For the past two days, he had thought she was disgusted with him and unable to stand his presence after he had killed a dragon but it appeared that he was wrong.

After a long moment, she spoke slowly. "I cannot disprove the existence of a god nor can I prove that one does exist. I cannot believe in something whether it be a theory or a belief without evidence to prove it. How can one believe in something that is not proven? Where does the basis of that belief lie?" she shook her head, her tone strong as she continued speaking. "Therefore as an answer to your question, I do not believe in their existence."

He smiled slightly as he inclined his head to peer down into her emerald eyes. He had thought as much. "Do you believe in gods, Eragon?"

He thought about her question before he shook his head. "No, I never put much faith in wishful thinking. If a god exist then surely Galbatorix shouldn't," his eyes flickered to the ceiling where they landed on the powerful being depicted as the all-knowing creator of humans. "But I am certain that there exists a being that is more powerful than any of us."

And that being was Alagaësia but he did not voice his thoughts to Arya.

Lowering his eyes from the ceiling, he turned to find Arya staring up at him in concern. Instantly a warm feeling encompassed him at her worry. It always made him feel better to have her attention. "You have been appearing troubled ever since your fight with Aegnor and his dragon."

"Has Brom told you this?" asked Eragon curiously.

Arya shook her head. "Nay, he does not speak of your troubles but it is not difficult for me to see that you are bothered. I have known you for nine years before you left Du Weldenvarden to join the Varden, it would be odd if I did not notice. For we are friends."

_Friends…_

He nodded, "Yes we are."

"Then I hope I do not overstep my boundaries when I ask how you are feeling," said Arya.

He sighed before gesturing to the front most pew directly before the raised platform. The two of them both took a seat on the wooden bench, side by side. He saw one of her hands resting on her knee and wanted to reach out and enclose her small hand in his remembering the soft feeling of her skin even if it was decades ago when he held her hand.

"It bothers me," said Eragon eventually as he stared at the white rose in his hand. "That the person I killed was an elf who wanted to avenge the loss of his mate." At her expression, he continued before she could get the wrong impression from his words. "I do not regret killing a Forsworn but the idea of using his sorrow at the loss of his mate is somewhat sickening. It does not sit well with me for some reason." _Because it reminds me too much of Arya. _If someone were to use his death against her…his frown hardened and he felt a deep pang of sadness well within him and not for the first time he thought of how unfair everything was.

He was the one given the second chance and no one else was. Sitting there beside Arya, he couldn't help but want to turn and ask her what she thought of his decision but the words never left his mouth. He blinked when he felt soft fingers on his left hand that he had not realized he had fisted. Surprised, he could only stare at the nimble fingers that gently uncurled his fingers. His eyes flickered to meet Arya's and he felt warmth spread through him at her soft expression.

"I realize that there is little I can do to ease your troubled mind Eragon," said Arya gently, her hand still resting on his. Though it was a gentle touch of a friend's, he felt as if his skin was burning. "It must bother you to kill someone who was once your brethren—to kill a dragon. If it is of any comfort, no one thinks less of you of ridding the world of one more evil. Do not let yourself be burdened by your actions. You did what was best for the Varden and for our goal."

"Perhaps," murmured Eragon. He blinked when Arya's fingers gently pressed against his hand, a gesture of comfort.

"Breathing helps," said Arya, repeating his worlds to her from a few days earlier. He could only stare at her feeling his throat dry and his eyes itch irrationally at the thought of her comforting him. It had been so long since someone had ever reached out to comfort him. He had always been the one to be strong that it felt odd to be put in a position where he had to rely on someone else.

"And I learned that speaking of your troubles with a friend helps too," said Arya continuing. Her eyes flickered to the white rose in his hand and back to his face. "We are friends Eragon. That has not changed since you left Ellesméra all those years earlier. Do not be afraid to speak to me as friends should."

Holding her gaze, he could only nod as he felt Arya's warmth within him seep through his veins as if to give credence to the words she had just spoke to him. After a long moment, he nodded. "Thank you," said Eragon sincerely. "Though I doubt I can repay the favor to you Arya. I do not think I am well fit to comfort another person."

"I do not think so," she said quietly a slight smile tugging on her lips. "You are very kind Eragon."

He was stunned. No one had ever called him kind except for one person apart from Saphira and that was Arya. She had called him kind in this time and in his past time and for a moment he was overwhelmed by emotion. He could only nod and with one last squeeze of his hand, she retracted her hand. Whether or not she noticed how much her words meant to him she gave them no indication but instead turned to stare about the cathedral.

"Despite the purpose of this cathedral," said Arya, "It is nonetheless rather beautiful."

"Yes," Eragon nodded, his eyes focused on the tilt of her head and the soft glow of her skin against the light pouring in through the windows. "It is."

They sat there for a moment longer before Arya stood, turning her head to him. "I shall go check on the soldiers," she said as he turned his head to stare up at her. "I shall see you when you return, Eragon." With one last glance in his direction she turned and left leaving him to his thoughts once more. Hearing the doors close behind him, he turned to face the front. His heart felt considerably lighter than it did this morning.

Staring at the white rose in his hand, he felt a soft and yet sad smile curve onto his lips. "I'm kind…Arya?"

As he studied the white rose in his hand, he lifted a finger to touch the white petals of the flower as a memory came to him from long ago—a memory of him and Arya during a time in which there was much strife and yet in which the both of them were happy.

_Letting his hands stroke her smooth back, Eragon blinked down at the beautiful ebony haired elf-maiden that laid atop him, her weight comparable to a feather as she pressed down on him. Her legs which were tangled with his shifted as she moved against him stretching like a cat lazily before she winced slightly. Immediately, one of his hands slid down to caress her hip trying to ease the soreness she felt._

"_Does it hurt much?" asked Eragon worriedly._

_Arya merely smiled at him as she traced nonsensical patterns on his chest. "You are very kind Eragon," she said softly causing him to raise a brow at her words._

"_I do not think that the majority would agree with your statement," said Eragon shivering slightly when she pressed her lips to his chest._

"_Perhaps not," she agreed her emerald eyes sparkling. "To me you were always kind despite your aloof ways and indifferent nature."_

_He didn't know why but her words touched him greatly. He could only stare down at her as she smiled back up at him. "You were always like a white rose to me…my white rose that helped me escape Gil'ead…the only gesture of kindness I saw during my captivity by Durza."_

"_A white rose?" questioned Eragon curiously watching as she nodded, raising herself on her elbows above him so that she could stare down at him tenderly. His hands drifted slowly from her back to her hips, softly caressing her skin._

"_White roses are beautiful and pure and yet they possess thorns of their own," she said. "But if you look past the thorns, the flower itself is full of beauty. Just like you." She leaned down and touched their foreheads together, their lips whispering against each other's. Then Arya tilted her head slightly and pressed her lips fully against his._

"I was your white rose," said Eragon to no one in particular as he eyed the rose in his hands. "But will you need a white rose when you have a black morning glory?"

Staring at the rose for a moment longer, he stood and approached the altar in which a basin of clear water rested. Lifting the rose to his nose, he let the flowery scent wash over him before with great care, placed it in the basin. Staring at the rose as it floated on the surface of the water, he sighed and then turned away making his way out of the cathedral. He had thought enough for one day.

Instead, he continued to wander the markets trying to lighten his thoughts. Evening was beginning to set it and he felt a gentle breeze in the air despite the fiery glow of the sky. Wandering in the rather crowded streets of the capital of Aberon, he blinked as he passed an alleyway in which he heard the sound of a scuffle. Frowning, he turned his head to see a cloaked figure being harassed by three drunkards. One of the tall brutes grabbed the person's slim wrist tugging on it roughly causing her hood to cascade about her shoulders revealing a beautiful face in which sapphire eyes peered out of.

Eragon frowned at the scene. Not waiting for another moment, he strode forward and with barely any effort pulled the man off of her. "What do you think you are doing?" asked Eragon as he threw the man at his companions.

"And who might you be?" the man asked outraged at the interruption.

One of his companions squinted at Eragon before his face turned into a scowl. "It's the elf from the Varden."

There was a slither of sound. With narrowed eyes, Eragon held the tip of Brisingr right before the man who had tried to grab the woman earlier. "What were you saying?" asked Eragon his voice not betraying his annoyance.

Losing all of their bravado that their drunken state provided for them earlier, they stuttered hurried apologies before turning tail and fleeing. Scoffing at their poor response, he sheathed Brisingr and turned to the woman from earlier. She was staring at him with a curious expression and for some reason she appeared oddly familiar to him.

"Are you fine?" asked Eragon. She nodded. Seeing as there was nothing else for him to do he turned and began to leave pausing when she called out to him.

"Wait," a frown instantly made its way to his face as he turned to her. _Why does that voice sound so familiar?_

"What is it?" asked Eragon.

"You are rather rude," she said with raised brows as she stopped before him.

Eragon raised a brow at her. "I believe I can say the same for you. Now if you have nothing else to say to me apart from insults, I shall be leaving." He turned to leave and emerged back onto the busy street. To his slight annoyance the woman from earlier followed him.

"Who are you?" she asked as she easily kept up with his long strides, her dark cloak fluttering about her figure.

"Who are you?" Eragon replied. He was never apt at speaking with others, particularly strangers and for someone who had insulted him he found himself speaking rather shortly.

"You can call me Elvina," he blinked at the strange name but did not say anything. Instead he continued to walk and when it became obvious that he was not going to tell her who he was, she sent him a glare. "It is called common courtesy to introduce yourself once someone has introduced themselves to you."

He sighed and turned to her, "Eragon is my name," he said, he then pinned her with a stare. When she made no move to leave, he reached up to rub his temples. His earlier happiness at Arya's warm words was beginning to fade replaced by annoyance. "Can I help you?"

Her blue eyes narrowed as she stared up at him and for a moment he thought he recognized the expression somewhere but it did not come to him. "For someone who had acted like my savior, you are rather cold."

"I do not enjoy making small talk," said Eragon truthfully.

"You there," he blinked turning to the man running the table filled with all types of scarves behind him. "If you do not plan on buying, then will you leave? You are blocking my table."

Nodding, he made to move but Elvina moved forward snatching a rather expensive looking red scarf from the table. "He is buying something," said Elvina. Eragon turned to her with a snort. He was not going to buy that scarf for her. If she wanted it, she could use her own crowns. He turned away but stopped when the seller blocked his way.

"Pay and then you can leave with your woman, I won't have you two trying to cheat me of my honest work," he said with narrowed eyes.

Eragon frowned and was about to sweep the man aside when Elvina came up to his side and touched him on the shoulder instantly causing him to stiffen. "You will buy it for me will you not Eragon?" glaring at her, he was about to snap at her but thought better about it. If he bought her the scarf hopefully she would leave him alone. Reaching into his pockets for the crowns, he paid the seller and when the man happily stepped to the side, Eragon began forward about ready to lose Elvina's company.

When they emerged onto the center courtyard of the city where a beautiful fountain was erected, Eragon turned to Elvina and was ready to glower at her. He blinked when she held the scarf out to him. "What?" asked Eragon glaring at the object of his annoyance. He did not want to be reminded that he was forced to purchase a scarf for this strange woman.

"Consider it a token of my gratitude," said Elvina simply. Eragon stared at her and when she made no move to retract her arm he reached up to take the scarf letting the smooth material caress his fingers.

"Your idea of gratitude is strange," said Eragon as he stared at the red scarf. After a long moment's contemplation, he reached up and loosely wrapped the scarf about her head so that all he saw was her blue eyes. "Now consider this my gratitude. Stop following me…" he turned to leave and paused glancing over his shoulder at her surprised eyes. "Why don't you use that scarf to keep warm or cover your face so that you aren't attacked next time."

He had a vague feeling that she was smiling at him in amusement when he turned away but he didn't give it much thought. Instead he made his way back towards his men. _What a strange woman, _thought Eragon as he tried to get over the feeling that he had seen Elvina somewhere before.

As he walked, he turned a street and blinked when he caught sight of Arya standing a few yards down from him, watching the men as they worked. When she glanced up as if sensing that someone was watching her, she turned her head in his direction and he couldn't help but feel warmth flood him from earlier. Though Elvina had called him rude as long as Arya thought he was kind, that was enough. With a faint smile, he began to make his way towards her.

Laughter sounded from behind him and two kids ran past, both young girls and in their hands they clutched a white rose but ones without thorns.

**I missed the interactions between ExA in RL so I put that flashback in this chapter to fulfill that missing desire. Apart from that, it also served to give more history to ExA in TMF. Also, I always like the white rose in connection to Eragon and Arya and their relationship and if you all hadn't read RL, the white rose is Eragon's favorite flower and it serves to represent ExA in RL. And for those curious about **Elvina...it** shall be explained in the later chapters. (You should all look up the meaning of her name!) In any case, I wrote this chapter to explore Eragon's and Arya's interactions more. I hope you all enjoyed it. Anyways, I hope to see you all soon!**


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

**And so here is another chapter. I think the only concern that I wanted to address was some comments about the update speed of TMF. I'm not going to update TMF daily like I did RL. I mean, if I can I will, but other than that TMF isn't my biggest priority at the moment. But I'll try to keep the updates quick with little wait time in between just not daily updates that's all. Now with that addressed please enjoy this chapter! R&R!**

Closing the door behind him, Eragon blinked when he saw Arya stepping outside of her door as well. It was early dawn and though he loathed to wake early, he had to go and train the soldiers before meeting with Brom to speak about several strategies on how to deal with the Forsworn. She turned her head and caught sight of him a smile stretching across her lips at the sight of him.

Eragon greeted her as they met each halfway through the hall. She tilted her head at him, "You are training the soldiers today?" asked Arya.

"I am," he inclined a brow. "Will you be advising with Weldon and the others? I had thought that there had plenty of meetings since our return from Surda a week past."

She shook her head, her midnight tresses swaying with the motion. "Nay, Weldon has not requested a meeting for today. I woke merely with the intentions of rising early, nothing more." She paused her expression growing slightly hesitant. "Would you mind if I joined you? I have yet to see you training the soldiers and I admit that I am curious."

"If you have nothing else that you are needed for then by all means, you are welcome to accompany me down to the training field," said Eragon. He gestured for her to walk with him. The two of them made their way down the hall and emerged from hidden hallway. The reason it was overlooked so easily was due to the angle of the wall making it seem smooth when in reality there was a gap large enough for a person to fit through. It was cunning engineering on the dwarves' part.

"Have you seen all there is to see of Tronjheim?" asked Eragon as they walked together. In three more months, she would have been serving as an ambassador to her people for a year. Eyes darting to the beautiful city about them and the white marble of the buildings, he waited patiently for Arya's answer.

"I have not yet," said Arya but he could see a shine of curiosity in her eyes at the thought of exploring more of Tronjheim. "Though I doubt that I could unravel all the mysteries that Tronjheim has to offer."

"There is much here," agreed Eragon.

"And what of you Eragon?" she turned her head to him. "You have had a decade more than I to explore Tronjheim, have you seen all there is to see?"

He shook his head. In truth, whenever he had time he would wonder Tronjheim in search of the flower that Arya had told him about once. He wanted to find the flower that had gave Arya the strength to find herself. But it was near impossible. There were just too many rooms for him to go through and the tunnels held different paths that he did not want to end up losing himself beneath Farthen Dûr. It was as if the flower did not want to be sought out but rather stumbled upon just as Arya had stumbled upon it in her wanderings.

"No," as he thought of the room which held the flower that Arya explained to him about, the soft whisper of her true name rang through his mind. As always when he thought of his mate, a tenderness that was different from the way he felt about Saphira and his mother rose up within him. "But I will continued to search through Tronjheim."

"For what?" It was a curious question on Arya's part but it made his heart clench. _Would she find her true name if the same were to happen? _For one moment, he had the strongest urge to whisper her true name and see if she would respond to him but he threw the thought from his mind the moment it took root. That would be the greatest violation he could do to Arya.

"A promise I made," answered Eragon eventually.

She did not ask him to elaborate which he was grateful for. The two of them walked together until they emerged onto the training field. It was a large dirt area that was half a mile in diameter in which a hundred or so soldiers could train on the field all at once without getting in the way of each other.

The bulk of the training ground was occupied by a crooked block of foot soldiers struggling with shields and poleaxes nearly as tall as themselves. They drilled as a group in formations. Practicing beside them were hundreds of individual warriors outfitted with swords, maces, spears, staves, flails, shields of all shapes and sizes. Nearly all the fighters wore armor, usually chain mail and a helmet; plate armor was not as common. There were as many dwarves as humans, though the two kept mainly to themselves. Behind the sparring warriors, a broad line of archers fired steadily at gray sackcloth dummies.

When he was not training them, he let the soldiers take it upon themselves to practice formation but when he did train them, he usually split them accordingly to weapon preference and then by order of skill. The most skilled of the men would spar with each other while he would have the less skilled train their body and mind first before they even attempted a sparring match.

Upon arriving on the training ground, Rosalie came to greet him. While she had devoted a great deal of her time to helping him expand and teach the members of Du Gata Vrangr, she had also came to assist him in training the soldiers. Though Rosalie was very skilled with a blade as she had proven on numerous occasions when some of the soldiers had found it laughable that she, a woman, was teaching them, her true mastery laid in archery.

"Eragon," he smiled at her. Having been used to her calling him by his title of lord for so long, it was always welcoming to know that Rosalie viewed him as a friend. During the past four years that she had taught by his side, he had come to know his servant once more and was heartened that she was not different from how he knew her at first. Rosalie was still seeking the answers to her life. She wanted to know where it was that she would be going in a life that seemed timeless and he hoped that he would be able to give her the answers. Perhaps he could even find a way to introduce her to Blödhgarm. "I hope the morning sees you well."

"It does," answered Eragon with a tilt of his head. "And you Rosalie? Has Angela been irritating as of late?"

"Let us say that she has been rather interesting," said Rosalie her emerald eyes darting to Arya. She curiously stared at the elven ambassador as if trying to assess for herself why she was there. "I believe we have not met before despite your stay here in Tronjheim. I am Rosalie."

"Arya," replied Arya in kind.

Though he did not say anything as they introduced themselves, he made sure to keep an eye on their expressions trying to glean any sort of information he could. In his past, Rosalie and Arya had never gotten along well. They were on cordial and distant relations but nothing more. And at some times, he thought they were straining themselves in each other's presence. Even to this day, he never really understood why it was that they seemed incapable of being kinder towards each other.

"Arya has come to observe," said Eragon when Rosalie turned her eyes to him. "She will not bother us as we train the soldiers."

"Of course," said Rosalie though he could see the slight curve downwards to her lips. "In any case, are we to proceed as we normally do?"

"I do not see the reason as to not," said Eragon as he turned his head to take in the warriors training. "Do you need any help with the archers?"

"No, I believe they listen to me well enough," said Rosalie with a slight smile. He turned to her and felt himself nod. He had never admitted it to anyone but he had always held a soft spot for his servants. They could be annoying, irritating, and overbearing but they had good intentions and there was never a dull day with them concerned.

"Is she a friend of yours?" asked Arya as Rosalie trailed off towards where the archers were so that she could oversee their training. Eragon turned to Arya and nodded.

"She has helped me train the warriors of the Varden as well as the members of Du Gata Vrangr for the past four years," explained Eragon. "She may appear normal but there is more to Rosalie than what one can gather from merely her appearance."

"You sound like you know her well," observed Arya. Eragon paused trying to remember if he had heard Arya speak in this tone of voice to Rosalie in his past life. When he could not make a connection he merely let the moment pass. It could very well be that he was making up their enmity in his mind. It was possible.

Turning away from Arya, he strode forward until he stood before the array of warriors training. "Stop!" Voice ringing loud and clear over the practice field, Eragon was pleased when the human warriors immediately ceased what it was that they were doing. They were well aware of their training regimen and the last time one person had dared to question him, he had them lying on their back gasping for air due to his disrespect.

Seeing as he had their full attention, Eragon watched as they lowered their weapons their eyes finding him. More than a few eyes flickered to Arya who stood behind him and he could see some the beginnings of anxiety on some faces and then the emergence of bravado on others. "Break into the formations that you have been assigned," Eragon ordered. "Those of you who have recently joined the army, you shall leave your weapons and armor and run the perimeter of the training ground." He saw quite a few disheartened expressions but he gave them no thought. Instead, he continued giving out orders watching as they carried them out without protest.

Satisfied, Eragon turned to Arya. "If you would like, you can always walk about and observe the warriors," said Eragon, then he thought about it for a moment and frowned to himself. Though Arya had been with the Varden for over nine months, her presence was still fairly new. He remembered himself what it was like to have joined the Varden at first. There was always a degree of distrust that they held for him and now it seemed as if Arya was being subjected to the same thing. Not to mention that she was also a woman. Though genders were equals in the elven realm, it was never seen as such in human culture. Women would always be inferior to men.

He could not even imagine what would happen if one of the warriors looked down at Arya thought Eragon torn between amusement and worry. Deciding to not let the thought get the best of him, he instead waited for Arya to start about the training grounds studying the men as they trained. Meanwhile Eragon went in the opposite direction. He kept one eye on their progress and the other on Arya. Whether or not she realized it but her presence was causing quite a stir.

"If you would focus less on the elven ambassador and more on your opponent you would not have been beaten so easily," said Eragon to one of the warriors. The young man with dark brown hair nodded as he straightened rubbing his aching side. "Always keep your eyes on the enemy."

"Of course sir," nodding Eragon continued onwards.

It was rather hypocritical of him to berate the warrior when he found himself also watching Arya's progress. While some soldiers tensed at her presence, he could see others trying to impress her by flourishing their skills too much. He tried to hold back his laughter at how ridiculous some of the men appeared. _So this was what Arya had to face initially when she joined the Varden? _At least she isn't alone anymore.

Turning his eyes away from Arya, he continued to observe the soldiers and when it was apparent that they were all handling their training well, he rejoined Arya's side. "What are your opinions?" asked Eragon as he stopped before Arya.

"You are training them well," she said acknowledging his skill.

"They need to be trained well in order to face the battles to come if they do," said Eragon softly as he stared at the warriors, hard at work. His eyes flickered over to where Rosalie was training the archers. Rather than using immobile targets, she was using magic alongside Lucas to charm balls of hardened dirt into the air to test their accuracy. He had to admit as he watched more than one arrow pierce its target that the archers were well trained. He had made the right choice in giving Rosalie full reign over their training it seemed.

"Eragon."

"Hmm?"

He turned to Arya to find her curiously watching him. "If you are willing, perhaps the two of us can spar together. I still have much to learn when it comes to the blade and there is none else here who can teach me apart from you."

"It is an honor that you consider me so highly," said Eragon inwardly pleased that she would ask him to train her. Her words were true. Arya had much to learn and she would do so in the next seventy years. But as of currently she was not yet a master of fighting. "And to answer you, Arya, I am never one to turn down an opponent."

He could see the beginnings of a smile grow on her face and felt anticipation well up within him. If there was one thing that Arya was during battles it was herself. She was free and fierce like a torrent of wind that was unyielding to the earth as she was to her opponents. They two of them made way towards an unoccupied part of the training ground and rather than unsheathing both of his blades, Eragon only unsheathed Vrangr. He warded the sapphire blade while Arya did the same for her own sword.

He was not by any means going to treat Arya any differently than any of his other opponents. He only wanted to see how well she would spar against him if each of them only used one sword. They moved a few yards away from each other in the opposite direction before turning to face one another. Bending his knees slightly, he held Vrangr outwards at a slant to his body while Arya merely regarded him with a straight posture, her sword held away from her body.

A trickle of excitement welled within him as he stared at her.

Eragon blinked.

Arya tilted her head to the side slightly.

Then they were upon each other, their speeds bringing them together. Blades meeting in a furious clash, he felt his heart stutter in his chest as he saw the familiar gleam in Arya's eyes showing once more. It was a gleam of freedom and the ability to let go of the formalities and mannerism for a more basic and instinctive passion. She pulled her sword back and battered Vrangr to the side much to Eragon's surprise in his one moment of distraction. Twisting his torso, he easily let Arya's sword slide past him.

_Do not make a fool of yourself gaping at her, _Eragon heatedly berated himself as he focused his attention on Arya as she gracefully shifted her feet about her sword swinging in an arch towards him. He turned and brought Vrangr upwards their sword gleaning off of each other in different directions. Turning his wrist slightly, he brought Vrangr back down only to have Arya parry him.

She was excellent despite the fact that the first time she had fought had been but weeks earlier. However, there was a slight advantage Eragon had that she didn't as they fought. He had perfected his fighting style against Arya since the first time they sparred and though this Arya was different it didn't mean that he couldn't easily read her moves.

Seeing a slight sway to her motion, Eragon's eyes narrowed as he drew back making it seem as if he were retreating. Then with quick feet, he feinted on her right his eyes drawn to the sway of her body once more. Seeing her intentions, he pulled back as Arya's sword came to parry his and shuffling his feet to the side easily rapped Arya on her left side with Vrangr watching as she stumbled backwards slightly in surprise at the contact.

He watched as the surprise left her only to be replaced by a determined expression as she stared at him, readying her sword once more. Then with a silent cry she ran towards him, her sword flashing in her hands. Meeting her once more, their swords roughly clanked together but the note that the metals of their swords made sounded like music to him. Unwilling to back down, Eragon easily dodged a swipe to his shoulder.

Though he could no doubt have ended their sparring match early, he did not. Instead, he drew it out as long as he could trying to give rise to the ferocity that he knew laid dormant in Arya. And he was rewarded as he locked blades with her once more taking in the burning flames in her irises. Then without warning, he pulled Vrangr away grabbing the wrist of her left hand and pulling her towards him causing her to stumble. Then with his feet, he swept hers from underneath her and with little effort brought her down to the ground onto her back before he lightly pressed the warded edge of Vrangr to her fair skinned throat.

"Dead," whispered Eragon softly watching as a flash of emotion appeared in her eyes before disappearing the next second.

Withdrawing Vrangr, he removed the wards from his sword before sheathing it. By the time he was done, Arya was already on her feet and sliding her sword back into its sheath as well. He watched as she ran her finger through her hair calming it after the sparring match of theirs. All around, Eragon could see the other warriors trying to hastily return to what they were doing earlier afraid of the reprimanding he would bring down on their heads if he saw that they were off task.

"You fought well," Eragon said honestly as he stared down at Arya who was wearing a rather dissatisfied expression on her face.

"There is still much left for me to learn," she said softly.

"And you will," said Eragon, he paused unsure if he should voice his thoughts to her but after a moment of contemplation he continued. "If you would like, we can spar daily so that you can perfect your skills."

She nodded and for some reason he thought that she might have appeared embarrassed by his great willingness to help her but then again he had never _really _seen an embarrassed Arya before so he couldn't pass judgment well enough. Before he could say any more a runner had come saying that Weldon sought Arya's presence. After saying farewell to her, he returned his attention to the warriors and felt himself frown when he caught more than one staring at Arya's departure.

_It can't be helped, _thought Eragon with a sigh.

With her gone and doing her duties, he was reminded once more that he had his own obligations to carry out. He continued to train the soldiers well into noon and when it appeared as if they could no longer move due to their exertions did he dismiss them. After saying his farewells to Rosalie, he began to make his way to where Brom was no doubt waiting for him. His father had asked that Eragon had met him when he was not tending to his obligations so that they could speak about the Forsworn. Only nine of the Forsworn remained and Brom was willing to make sure that he destroyed the rest of them.

_I have yet to see Morzan, _thought Eragon and he would not deny the fact that he would be very interested to meet Murtagh's father and his mother's first lover. He frowned slightly at the user of the word lover.

Turning a corner, Eragon continued walking only to stop when he heard something slice through the air towards him. He felt an object glean off of his words and glanced up to see a dart dipped in yellow liquid angling away from him and into the ceiling where it collided with the stone before falling to the ground.

_What?_

Turning about, he blinked when he saw a flash of black turn about a corner. Nearly growling to himself, he ran after the person. Was that an assassination attempt? Turning a corner, he blinked when he felt another object press against his wards. A dagger was held an inch away from his body unable to cause him any harm. Raising his eyes, he found himself staring into furious brown eyes and a face cloaked by a black cloth.

Then without any difficulties, he slammed the dagger out of the person's grip and tugged the person forward ripping the cloth away from their face to reveal a young man. "And who are you?" asked Eragon as he gripped the man by the throat with narrowed eyes. "Clearly not the smartest assassin. But you do have the stupidity to try."

The man appeared to be gathering his spit but before he could do so much as to open his mouth, Eragon's grip on his throat hardened causing his skin to turn purple as he gagged, trying to breathe through his nostrils.

"I wonder if I should kill you," said Eragon softly as he stared at the man. "You certainly don't look like anyone of importance."

A gurgle was his answer.

Then from behind him another voice spoke. "If you kill him, there goes your chance to find out more about his intentions."

Eragon frowned as he blinked turning his head to stare at the new comer and was shocked to find Elvina leaning against the opposite wall of the tunnel. How had she gotten into the Varden? Did she follow him? Blinking in surprise, he momentarily forgot about the man struggling for air in his grip and turned to her.

"And what are you doing here?" before she could answer, he forged on. "No, rather, how did you manage to get here?"

She shrugged. "I followed you," her sapphire eyes became gloating. "It is not difficult to do so when a few hundred men are traveling in the same direction. Perhaps you could work on being more discrete the next time you venture forth."

He scowled darkly. He was going to have to speak with Weldon about discretion next time but for now…Turning back to the man struggling in his grips, Eragon sighed. As much as he liked to merely end the assassin's miserable life he had protocols to follow. He would need to bring the man to Weldon and from then the leader of the Varden could deicide with to do with him.

"Slytha," the man stopped struggling and went limp in his grip. Staring down at him, Eragon merely let him crumple to the ground.

"Rude and cruel," observed Elvina.

He turned to her a flare of suspicion rising in him. "As much as I enjoy your remarks," said Eragon with narrowed eyes, "I have to question how you managed to arrive here and who you are. No mere human woman would transverse the length of Aberon to the Beor Mountains by herself. And so my question is, who are you?"

She stared at him, her eyes flickered to the unconscious assassin at Eragon's feet before they moved back to hold his gaze. Sweeping her long hair back from her shoulders, Elvina regarded him with a hard gaze before she spoke. "I have already told you who I am," she said inclining her chin. "If you prefer it said once more then I shall say it once more."

"I do not see how I can trust you," said Eragon noticing for the first time that the red scarf that she had forced him to buy was wrapped about her throat. His eyes flickered back to the startling blue of hers.

She frowned at him before letting forth a sigh as if she was suffering the greatest pain known to humans. Then almost lazily, she spoke but this time not in the human tongue but in the elven tongue. "I am Elvina and I mean you and the Varden no harm," said Elvina, her words not faltering in the slightest.

Eragon frowned at how she had cornered him. He had wanted to search her mind but then again he was also afraid of what could be revealed if his mind was in contact with another's for too long. Instead, he merely stared at her, his lips curled downwards as she tried to figure out for himself what Elvina was. A part of him did not trust her. There was something unnatural about Elvina that made him cautious. She was too relaxed, too sarcastic and mocking, and too forceful particularly about him. Normally, the natural human response to an elf was to shy away. But she was different. She reminded him of Rosalie and Angela but not.

The other part of him wanted to trust her for she had spoken clearly and without effort in the ancient language. But even then the language had its flaws. He would know for he had been able to lie or skirt the truth numerous times with the many loopholes that the language provided.

"You still do not believe me?" asked Elvina, relaxed despite the obvious tension that was lacing through Eragon.

"Forgive me if I find it hard to place my trust in a stranger," said Eragon causing Elvina to frown at him.

"Are you naturally vile?"

"It would depend on who I am speaking to," said Eragon as he eyed her.

She did not say anything but merely scowled up at him then as if she was doing him a great service she spoke, "If it would ease your mind, you can search my thoughts to see if I am who I claim to be," said Elvina surprising Eragon. The fact that she was willing to submit her thoughts to inspection made him falter. If she was someone who meant him or the Varden harm she would never be open to such a suggestion. Then again, this could be a ploy.

Walking up to her, he stopped directly before Elvina. He had to admit when she did not flinch in the face of his presence that he was impressed. But as impressed as he was, he was also very aware that Elvina could pose as a danger. "You said that I can search your mind," said Eragon watching as she nodded. He raised his chin slightly. "Then I shall not decline your offer."

"Then make sure you do well to keep to yourself and look for only what you need," Elvina warned dangerously her blue eyes sparkling as if to warn him that if he dared to delve into her inner sanctums he would be punished accordingly.

Taking in a deep breath, he held her gaze as he reached out with a calm tendril of thought towards Elvina's mind. It did not take long for that tendril to gently brush a wall. Slowly, the wall came down and he was admitted entrance into her mind. Her mind, Eragon thought as he searched through her thoughts, was very dark. Not in the sense of lacking any sort of light but there was an ominous lilt to her thoughts that bode ill. Yet despite the dark tint of her mind, he could not find anything that would show that she was their enemy. After a few moments of searching, Eragon pulled back frowning as Elvina challenged him with her blue eyes.

"Well, have you found anything that is of concern to you?" asked Elvina almost mockingly as if she _knew _that he couldn't have found anything dangerous. His frown deepened. There was a method, Eragon knew, to fool another person when searching through their mind. Galbatorix had once shown him but it would take master of manipulation to do so. His eyes darted to Elvina and wandered for a moment if what he saw, despite the briefness of it, was real. But he had no way to prove her to be a liar and had to grudgingly admit defeat to her.

"No," said Eragon watching as her smile grew somewhat smug. "But you still did not answer my question. What are you doing here? Do you plan on joining the Varden?"

She scoffed as if insulted. "No, I was merely interested in you. I have heard word from some of the soldiers that you killed a Forsworn." Her blue eyes gleamed as she stared up at him and he was once more cautious of Elvina.

"What of it?" Eragon waved the matter aside.

"You appear rather calm," observed Elvina.

"Should I not be?" Eragon retorted with a raised brow.

She lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal act. He merely shook his head. Turning, Eragon blinked when another dagger came slicing through the air towards him glancing off of his wards once more. His eyes turned to the assassin, who had managed to get to his feet. Eyes narrowed, he raised his hand and with a shout threw the assassin back with a ball of magic knocking him unconscious.

He turned in time to see the dagger pierce one of the flameless lanterns. Remembering what had happened during the assassination attempt on Murtagh without thinking, he drew Elvina to him. She stiffened in his arms but did not resist him as he threw them to the ground as a booming explosion shook the entire tunnel.

"Stay down!" Eragon shouted to her as he braced his body against the ground trying to cocoon her beneath him. Though he may dislike Elvina, she was still human and was not as strong as he was. Or that was what he thought. Feeling the torrents of wind mercilessly rip through the enclosed space, he gritted his teeth pressing closer to the ground not noticing the slight flush that blossomed on Elvina's face.

When at last the explosion subsided, Eragon tentatively moved to his feet. His ears pounded with pain, moving forward to where the lantern had exploded, he made sure to deliberately step on the assassin's chest as he did so. He had forgotten how destructive the flameless lanterns could be.

"I will most definitely torture you," said Eragon in a low voice as he bent over the unconscious assassin. Grabbing the man by the scruff of his neck, he easily hoisted him up and onto his shoulders before turning to Elvina. "How are you?"

"Near deaf but otherwise I am fine," she said dusting off her cloak as she turned to him. "And you?"

"It will take more than a lantern to kill me," said Eragon as he began to walk.

"Where are you heading?"

"Somewhere," he replied turning a sharp eye to her. "If you did not come to join the Varden, then I suggest you take your leave and not bother anyone else."

"Once again, you act very rude despite being a savior," said Elvina with a frown at him.

He did not say anything but continued past her. Then he said in a warning tone, "If I hear that you have done anything," Eragon started to say to her but she merely laughed lightly and he blinked. Her voice sounded so familiar that his head ached trying to match it with another's voice.

"I already told you," said Elvina smiling at him showing him her unnaturally strong white, teeth. "I have no intentions of doing you or the Varden any harm…I just merely find…certain things interesting."

He stared at her for a long moment. "Where will you be staying?" asked Eragon with a frown. He did not like the idea of Elvina walking about the tunnels. He still didn't trust her fully.

"Wherever," she did not elaborate. "Are you perhaps offering…?"

He snorted. No matter how beautiful Elvina was, he would always be devoted to one elf. "No," answered Eragon.

"You will ignore a woman in need?" Elvina asked with a raised brow though she did not appeared to be insulted at his refusal to help her. Instead she appeared as if she humored by his reaction.

He thought about her question for one long moment and then he nodded. "It is not my problem," he turned to leave but then after a moment frowned before saying to Elvina. "I shall be back to look for you in this tunnel whether it be this night or tomorrow. Do not wander too far."

"I give you my word," said Elvina in the ancient language unnerving him once more.

He only frowned but shifted the man on his shoulders and turned to leave feeling Elvina's eyes on his back as he did so.

**I laughed when I read some reviews that said that they could picture Eragon and Fomora coming together. It was funny and it makes me **wonder...In** any case, the drama is just going to get started and poor Eragon, he's having troubled trying to juggle things about and now Elvina is going to cause him even more headaches. Oh dear and let's not mention his need to be close to Arya (who seems rather taken by someone **else...hmm...**). In any case, let's hope that I can finished the next chapter soon! I hope to see you all soon!**


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

**Sorry for the long wait everyone but I wasn't really feeling like writing at the moment. I started this chapter Wednesday but I had a rather rough day on Thursday and it made me somewhat restless and anxious. I barely slept a wink on Thursday night. But after Friday, I decided to get my act together and write since it's a pastime that I enjoy greatly. In any case, here is the next chapter. I hope you all enjoy it. R&R.**

It turned out the assassin did not know anything apart from his one goal—to make an attempt on Eragon's life. It came to a shock to Weldon as well as Irvine, Brom, and Arya when Eragon had presented to them the unconscious body of the man that was the assassin. Staring at the unconscious man that laid in the open space in the center of Weldon's study, Eragon frowned as the others spoke of the possibilities of a spy in their midst. That would be impossible, thought Eragon in slight confusion. The members of Du Gata Vrangr were tasked with searching the minds of all those that were admitted entrance into the Varden. Therefore, it was a slim chance that a spy of Galbatorix's could actually make it past their security.

His brows furrowed. This man must have used an abandoned tunnel to make it to the Varden. There was no other possible conclusion. His thoughts began to wander to Elvina and how it appeared to be too great of a coincidence for her to be there during the assassination attempt. But then again, she had spoken in the ancient language and had not resisted when he went to probe her mind. Despite that, there was something about Elvina that made him cautious and unwilling to trust her. He frowned trying to think of what else it was that threw him about the mysterious woman whom he had met in Aberon.

"What do you think Eragon?" asked Weldon, turning the conversation to him. He blinked n surprised at being addressed and turned to face Weldon. It would be simple to judge the assassination attempt as a lone attempt based on one man, but he did not think that was the case.

"So far, we have little evidence to form any assumptions," said Eragon with a shake of his head. His eyes returned to the assassin. "In any case, the man was not trained well enough to even attempt to scratch me which leads me to believe that he was alone in this matter. Or someone could have used him to achieve a goal of theirs."

He frowned once more thinking of Elvina. _If she caused any trouble…_

There was a groan from the man on the ground, who was bound and drugged. It was a tactic too much like Galbatorix but Eragon had learned better. He knew how to extract information especially from unwilling subjects who would be more willing to throw away their lives than speak. Immediately their attention shifted to the man as he slowly became of aware of where it was that he was lying.

"Who are you?" asked Weldon staring down at the man as he craned his neck about seemingly searching for an escape route.

The man ignored him which was no surprise to Eragon. "Asking him will do us no good," said Brom gruffly shaking his head. He turned his blue eyes to Eragon. "We need to extract the information from him if he is unwillingly."

"Then let me," said Eragon taking a step forward. He crouched slightly, his eyes narrowing as he beheld the man. "Since you are not willing to cooperate with us, I see no wrong in taking that which we need from you by force."

Then without warning, he reached out to the man from many different directions sending sharp tendrils of thought at him. The assassin stiffened in surprise at being attacked but seeing as he was drugged it made it much more difficult for him to defend himself. Watching him struggle for a moment, Eragon smirked slightly. Though he despised his time spent beneath Galbatorix he would not deny the fact that what he'd learned was useful. The man twitched on the ground and seeing this, Eragon pushed forward wrapping his mind about the assassin's. It was unlike how he would do so for Arya. Whenever Arya—in his past life—would feel exhausted he would always wrap his mind about hers like a warm blanket trying to give her energy. Instead, he closed in on the assassin, wrapping about his mind like a python about its prey, pressing and squeezing the life from him.

There was nowhere for the assassin to attempt to hide himself and the more he withdrew within in his own mind, the more Eragon pressed his mind against him until at long last he felt a snap in the man's mental defenses. Stripping the mental walls that he had tried to erect in vain against Eragon's mental attack, Eragon ripped away all of the assassin's defenses until nothing was left.

Entering the man's mind, he began to search through his thoughts. Flashes of a city that appeared to be Dras-Leona, traveling across the Beor Mountains, sneaking about the tunnels underneath Farthen Dûr, he saw all types of memories but nothing stood out to him apart from a rather dark memory in which he saw two figures speaking but he could hear no words nor see any clear images. One he assumed to be the assassin and the other escaped his knowledge. Apart from those memories and thoughts, there was nothing else that was of interest to him.

Frowning, Eragon pulled back staring down at the man before him. That was useless almost. He shook his head, "The man has nothing useful for us. The only memory that appeared to have any value was altered by magic making it hard for me to clearly see what was going about."

"So we can conclude that he is merely a pawn of someone else," said Brom with a frown as he stared down at the man before them. Eragon nodded, standing as he did so. The assassin laid at his feet, his eyes opened and dazed and spittle forming at the corner of his mouth. _Perhaps I have broken him, _thought Eragon turning to Weldon.

"In any case he is of little use to us now," said Eragon with a shake of his head.

"I suppose so," said Weldon with a frown. "I shall have the guards dispose of him."

"If you would," said Eragon inclining his head to Weldon. The four of them continued to speak with Arya remaining silent on the matter unless addressed. Instead, her eyes were focused on the assassin and there was an unreadable expression on her face that Eragon found somewhat unsettling. He did not voice his feelings, however, seeing as they were in the presence of others. Instead, he advised Weldon to take on more guards and another member of the Du Gata Vrangr to better protect himself. They would also have to speak to King Hrothgar about the abandoned tunnels and possibly finding a way to regulate those that used such tunnels for their own purposes.

When they were dismissed, he was about to go searching for Elvina to make sure that she was not stirring trouble only to be stopped by Brom. His father had placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him from walking off. "Eragon," said Brom in a low voice taking a step closer to him. "You must be careful. I have an intuition that it is the Forsworn seeking vengeance."

"The Forsworn?" muttered Eragon.

His father nodded squeezing his shoulder slightly. "Let us meet another day to speak about those traitors that we call Dragon Riders," said Brom in a quiet voice. He nodded to Eragon once more before retracting his hand and turning to leave. Watching his father leave, he stood there for a moment before turning to walk back the way he'd come.

"Eragon," he turned and stopped at the sight of Arya standing by the wall.

"Arya," he greeted her before he found himself slightly worrying. "Are you well? You have not said a word during the meeting."

"I had little else to say," said Arya, her eyes darting to the side before flickering to Eragon. "Are you fine? I heard the explosion from the center of Tronjheim. It did not seem small."

"I am fine," Eragon reassured her. He wanted to say more to her but he did not know what else to say. Instead, he stood there half of him wanting to seek out Elvina and make sure that she was not out wreaking havoc on the Varden. Another part of him wanted to stay and speak with Arya.

"Do you plan on returning to the scene?" asked Arya with a raised brow. He nodded. She frowned for a long moment. Before she spoke, her eyes hard. "I would like to accompany you if that does not bother you, Eragon."

He faltered on the spot for the moment unsure of what to do. If Arya say Elvina what would she say? He thought about it for a moment before he reluctantly nodded. Feeling slightly anxious, the two of them began to make their way to the tunnel where the assassin had made an attempt on his life. Weaving in and out of the tunnel, he kept a close eye on any openings in case of any more unwanted appearances of any assassins about the tunnels. Turning the spot, he frowned at the sight of Elvina leaning against the wall, her arms folded across her chest and her expression thoughtful. At the sound of their footsteps, she turned her head to pin him with a stare, her eyes darting to Arya and back.

She raised a brow at their approach.

"Did you not trust my words that you have sought to bring a companion?" asked Elvina with a raised brow, her piercing sapphire eyes coming to rest on Arya, who lifted her head in return. There was a similarity in the way they regarded each other thought Eragon. There was a mixture of pride and caution as their eyes beheld one another and for a split second he regretted bringing Arya with him if Elvina was going to be deliberately rude.

"I suppose you can say that," said Eragon watching as she frowned at him. "There is little for me to go on to trust you fully."

"And bringing your elf companion will make it so that you feel more comfortable in my presence?" She smirked slightly. "I thought you handled yourself well, especially against the assassin from earlier. Apparently you seem to think so little of yourself in the face of a woman."

"You are much different from a normal woman," said Eragon. He blinked when Elvina merely offered him a smile as if mocking his words. He turned his head to Arya, "This is Elvina, a woman whom I met in Aberon. Apparently, she had decided to follow the Varden back to Farthen Dûr."

"I see," she sounded troubled but she did not voice more on it. He glanced at her expression feeling slightly restless at the way her brows furrowed.

"I see the two of you mirror each other rather well," said Elvina when they both made no move to speak. She unfolded her arms, turning her head to gaze at them. "It would be proper manners to introduce yourself once someone was introduced to you, elf."

Eragon bristled on the spot at Elvina's tone while Arya merely frowned. "My name is Arya," she said simply, her tone cold as ice. He had forgotten that Arya could be rather forceful and harsh seeing as he had always never been subjected to such a voice apart from the first time he had met her. She paused before she continued. "Why are you here?"

"I find him interesting," Elvina nodded towards Eragon. He sighed, reaching a hand up to rub his face. Things were never so simple it seemed. "There is no other reason to my being here." If anything, Arya's expression became even more severe as she regarded Elvina. It seemed as if her reason—if one could call it that—did not bode well with the elven princess, who had been exiled from her mother's presence due to her dedication to their cause.

Not waiting for this encounter to turn ugly, Eragon turned to Arya placing a hand on her shoulder. She tilted her head to the side slightly to stare up at him questioningly. "I can handle Elvina, Arya. You are busy and needed by the others."

Her rosy red lips pursed but she nodded, a quick jerk of her head, before turning and slinking away. When she had turned a corner and disappeared, Eragon turned back to Elvina to find her observing him with a slight smirk. "What is she to you, Eragon? Your mate?"

"Do not make assumptions," said Eragon warningly. "You will offend someone."

"You do not appear offended," Elvina pointed out as he made his way to her.

"Even though I do not appear to be, you should be careful of what you say," said Eragon with a frown bothered by how Elvina had asked of him such a question. Almost reflexively he was about to nod his head but had caught himself at the last moment. In his heart, Arya had always been his mate but to deny it by word of mouth bothered him. "Especially here within the Varden."

"I am curious of something," said Elvina as Eragon stopped directly before her. "Why is it that you have joined the Varden? I had thought you would be hiding like the rest of your people. That is what they say in any case."

"And why should I hide?" asked Eragon with one raised brow, challenging Elvina's words.

"Do you need me to say it for you?" asked Elvina appearing somewhat exasperated at his words, her blue eyes flashing. "Does the name Galbatorix not mean anything to you? The Forsworn? Durza?"

"No," said Eragon watching as her blue eyes widened just slightly to show her surprise at his words. "Do they mean something to you? You come from Surda, do you not? Why would Galbatorix or the Forsworn bother you? He has left your country untouched in his own thirst to cement his power over his dominion."

She scoffed. "Even though he does not appeared interested, he is always watching. Surda is weak compared to the Empire. There is no chance of the monarchy standing their own if Galbatorix and his Forsworn came down upon them, seeking their kingdom. He is only lulling them into a false sense of security and you know as well as I do that the thirst for more never truly dies, no matter how much is gained. In the end, everyone wants more than they have. It is the nature of all that is living."

"It is of animals," said Eragon with a frown as he let Elvina's words wash over him. "In any case, if his hunger is not satiated then all one has to do is staunch the source of it."

"You cannot kill Galbatorix," said Elvina bitterly. "He is too strong."

"If he is born to this world than he can die make no mistake," said Eragon. He paused, lifting his eyes to the blackened area where the lantern had exploded earlier. "No one lives forever that is the truth of the matter. Death is the natural course of life, it is true of all things."

"Are you prepared then?" her blue eyes flashed as she leaned her head back to stare at him, holding his gaze in hers. "To sacrifice your life? To die?"

_I had thought I knew that question well, _thought Eragon as he held Elvina's gaze refusing to back down. "Even if I had an answer to your question, I shall not tell you freely," said Eragon watching as an expression of frustration passed over her features. "In any case, I will admit to you that I am a selfish person."

"Your answers are only circles among circles," said Elvina with a frown. "It is irritating to listen to."

"Then do not," said Eragon. "You can simply leave."

She scoffed, bringing a hand up to sweep several strands of her from her face. There was a glint of silver on her finger. Eyes darting to the source, he caught sight of a silver band on her right forefinger. The ring was simple but there was the intricate design of leaves that was etched into its surface.

"I did not travel here to merely be shown the door so soon," said Elvina. "I would like to stay if only for a while."

"And what will you do here?" asked Eragon. "You are not a refugee seeking shelter away from the Empire. Nor are you here to join in the fighting, I presume. You would have been much better off remaining in Aberon, than following our forces to the Beor Mountains."

"Do I sense a slight concern coming from you?" asked Elvina, blue eyes gleaming.

He snorted. "I do not have the time nor resources to be concerned about you but what you do here certainly is my concern. So let me ask you once more, what do you plan on accomplishing by joining the Varden?"

"Does it matter in the end? What difference would one human make in the grander scheme of things?" asked Elvina.

He paused somewhat bewildered at her condescending tone. He had never heard a person belittle their race before and yet her words rang true. There is little a human could do in the face of Galbatorix and his might. They were too weak and fragile to hold their own against Galbatorix or a Forsworn. After a long moment, he sighed. _It is not as if I do not already have enough to keep me busy for the next decade and now I have to deal with this._

"Then as long as you swear to me that you will not cause the Varden any trouble while you remain here and that you will not reveal the location of Farthen Dûr and anything that happens here than I shall allow you to stay," said Eragon. She seemed to glare up at him at his request and before she could speak or protest he continued. "Do so in the ancient language as well since you seem to have a grasp of it."

A long moment passed and when it appeared as if Elvina was going to deny him, she nodded. Expression rather frosty, she spoke slowly in the ancient language as if she was having a hard time getting the words out of her mouth. Eventually when she was done, Eragon nodded satisfied. "Then let us go," said Eragon turning to lead her towards Tronjheim.

He was not surprised to see her easily keep pace with his long strides and was content to remain silent before Elvina spoke once more. "Why is that elf woman—"

"Her name is Arya," said Eragon with a frown. "Do not make it seem like you do not remember her name."

"—here?" Elvina finished acting as if he had not spoken in the first place.

"That is not my place to tell you," said Eragon adamantly refusing to tell Elvina anything about Arya that pertained to her personal life. "She had made her decision to become the elven ambassador to the people that is all."

"Is that so? You sound like you know more about her," observed Elvina, showing how perceptive she could be.

"Whether or not I know more about Arya is no concern of yours, Elvina," said Eragon. "In any case, I shall tell you this. Arya is someone that is admirable in deed and determined to our cause. If you come across her, you should not intentionally seek to be rude. It is unbecoming."

Her eyes flashed as she glared at him but she did not say anything else for a long moment. After walking from tunnel to tunnel, they eventually reached the hallway that he was seeking. "Where are you taking me?" asked Elvina with a frown as Eragon walked up to a wooden door stopping before it.

Rather than answer her, he lifted his fist and gently rapped on the door. It was silent for a moment before he heard the sound of the latch being lifted and it was pulled open to reveal Rosalie. Her expression showed her surprise at the sight of Eragon before her.

"Eragon," she said somewhat shocked, her emerald eyes sliding to Elvina. Like Arya, her brows instantly furrowed at the sight of the hauntingly beautiful woman. Her emerald eyes flickered between him and Elvina before she opened her mouth, speaking slowly as if trying to gauge the situation herself. "Is something wrong?"

"I know that it is rude of me to burden you with all the help that you have given me these past few years Rosalie," Eragon began as he heard Elvina cough slightly, her expression showing her disbelief at how polite he was being. "However, a situation has uninvitingly forced its way into our midst."

"What is it?" asked Rosalie alarmed at his words. "Should we not inform Weldon so that he could maneuver our forces?"

"It is nothing like that," said Eragon putting her fears to ease. Seeing Rosalie's confused expression, he began to elaborate. "I was hoping if you could watch Elvina," he gestured to the woman by his side. "For a few days—a week at most until she becomes used to living with the Varden."

"Elvina?" Rosalie turned to the woman in general. Elvina merely inclined her head to the redhead woman.

Eragon nodded. "If it is not too much trouble to ask that is."

She was quiet for a moment before she slowly nodded. "No it is not, it is only for a few days in any case."

He smiled at Rosalie in gratitude. "Thank you Rosalie," said Eragon watching as she seemed to flush slightly, her emerald eyes appearing to shine as she gazed up at him. "She shall be staying in the empty room adjacent to yours."

"Of course," said Rosalie while Elvina merely waited with an annoyed expression on her face, looking rather indignant at being treated like a child. _I still do not trust her entirely, _said Eragon. The part that was Arya within him, agreed with his thoughts only serving to give him more reason as to not to blindly trust in Elvina despite her actions. _There is something about her that reminds me too much of another that I cannot shake._

"Ah, Eragon," he blinked when Rosalie spoke once more. "Angela was asking for your presence earlier. She said she would like to speak with you."

"I shall go see to her," promised Eragon turning to leave. But before he did, he made sure to pin Elvina with a serious gaze. "Remember your promise to me."

"All too well," she murmured.

He nodded and after thanking Rosalie once more, turned and left. _Now what could that witch want with me? _Ever since Angela had joined the Varden, she had made it a point of hers to try and extract information for him. So far, she had been rather unsuccessful in her quest to do so. But she knew, more so than anyone else, that there was something about Eragon that was unusual or strange.

Pushing the door to her rather secret room open, he blinked sidestepping a flying squirrel that seemed to be rabid. "What on earth are you doing?" asked Eragon once Angela had managed to contain the creature, which seemed to be giving her more of a fight than it should.

"If you must know," said Angela placing the squirrel in a metal cage and slamming the cage atop a table that was surprisingly cleared of her strange instruments which littered the room. "I am trying to test the properties of crushed moonstones and a rather delightful red mushroom that I found in one of the dwarves' gardens."

"And what have you learned?" asked Eragon wearily as he stepped up to the cage to observe the squirrel which chittered nervously as if unable to stand still.

"That it makes for a dangerous creature," said Angela tossing her brushy hair. She turned to observe him, her eyes bright. "You look like you just had a visit with a windstorm."

"Do I now?" muttered Eragon reaching up to touch his very messy and windswept hair—a result from the tremendous explosion from one of the flameless lanterns. He glanced around searching for Solembum and was only slightly surprised to not find the werecat about.

When he asked, Angela merely waved away his concerns. "He is wandering about Tronjheim in search of some rather curious objects to collect."

"I hope you did not tell him that stealing is a viable method to do so," said Eragon with narrowed eyes as he watched Angela bustle about. She did not even blink an eye at his words. In fact it appeared as if she had not even heard him in the first place. He watched her in amusement before she stopped glancing up at him.

"Did you say something?"

"I did but it was nothing important," said Eragon. "Now, may I ask you what is it that you needed me for that you found important? Or did you simply call me here to try and see if I can be outdone by a rabid squirrel?" He stared at the rather blood hungry creature for a moment coming to a decision. He would keep Arya away from Angela for the moment. If she saw what the witch did to the squirrel, she would no doubt be upset.

"I was wondering if you would ask," said Angela as she continued to search her secret room.

"If it is another list that you have for me, I am afraid that I cannot act as your personal errand boy," said Eragon suspicious of what it was that the curly haired witch could possibly seek from him. "I am rather busy at the moment."

"I know," said Angela nodding. "It is no secret that you killed a Forsworn and his dragon. Aegnor, was it?"

"Yes," said Eragon with a frown.

"Word has it that you were able to kill him and his dragon with Brom's help," Angela stopped, turning her eyes to him. "It is surprising that Brom was successful in his endeavors to slowly pluck off the members of the Forsworn. The lot of them are rabid creatures I tell you.

The cage rattled as the squirrel fought to free itself, now foaming from the mouth. "You find it odd that Brom would succeed?"

"Perhaps you should ask him that question yourself when you the get the chance to," said Angela gesturing for him to take a seat in the cushioned armchair before a circular table of hers on which a thick red fabric covered. Rummaging about, he watched as she returned holding a deep purple silk pouch in her hands and instantly he felt a sense of apprehension overwhelm him as Angela took a seat before him. "Now before you say anything, I would like your word that you would not react _passionately_."

"My word?" repeated Eragon, his caution doubled.

"Yes your word," said Angela.

He stared at her for a long moment before he nodded. She pulled open the drawstring pouch and upturned the contents inside to reveal slim bones, each slightly longer than a finger. He blinked staring at the shape of the bones and the smoothness of them. They did not seem old and they did not seem as if they belonged to a regular animal. Staring at it for a moment longer, Eragon blinked in surprise turning his wide eyes on Angela.

"You took the dragon's knucklebones?" asked Eragon stunned. Of course, he was not as shocked when in his future Angela had read his fortune using dragon knucklebones but now he was beside himself. He had always known that she must have retrieved the bones by some means but he had not expected that she would take them from the dragon he had killed.

"Yes well, I did not want to let the body go to waste," said Angela with a frown. "It was either I preserved a part of Aegnor's dragon or let the vultures tend to it."

For a moment, he thought about Saphira and the idea of someone cutting out her knucklebones did not sit well with him. At his frown she huffed.

"Oh alright, I understand how you feel seeing as you…well…" she cleared her throat and continued. "It is not as if I can _return _these from where I retrieved them. So I might as well make good use of them if that makes the situation any better."

"Angela," said Eragon with a stern look. "No more stealing after this."

"This hardly constitutes as stealing," at his dark glare, she rolled her eyes. "Fine, but remember that stealing is rather loosely defined."

"Loosely?" he snorted. "It is taking something that does not belong to you." He pointed to the knucklebones.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "If you are done lecturing me, Eragon," Angela began returning his attention to the situation at hand, "I called you here because I wanted to see something for myself and you're the only person that I am willing to do this for."

He felt his blood chilled at her words. "And what is that?"

"I wish to tell your fortune," said Angela with gleaming eyes, a serious aura surrounding her for once. He blinked and suddenly fear gripped at him. If she casted the bone for him, would his fortune have changed? _Of course it has, _thought Eragon feeling his heart tighten, _I have gone back in time and changed history. The stones are set and now the wheels are turning with my actions._

But what would he do if his fortune was changed. What if when Angela casted the bones, it showed that he no longer had Arya's love? That he would not be born and become a Rider? He fought the shudder that wanted to run its course through his body. _What if I still die?_

"These," she said, touching them gently, "knucklebones hold much magic even if the dragon that they belonged to no longer lives in this world. Unlike tea leaves, crystal balls, or even divining cards, these have true power. They do not lie, though understanding what they say is…complicated. If you wish, I will cast and read them for you. But understand that to know one's fate can be a terrible thing. You must be sure of your decision."

"Is this out of your own curiosity?" asked Eragon trying to buy himself some time before he made his decision. He knew his future, he knew his life. But now, with Angela offering to read his fortune once more, he found himself hesitating, afraid of what he was going to see.

"Part of it is," said Angela, her expression somber. "But I am doing this out of respect for our friendship Eragon. I have known you for only a few years but you have proven that you are more than what you claim to be. Think of what I am asking you and then make your decision. To know your future can cripple your present."

He nodded closing his eyes as he thought. _I did it before, _thought Eragon, _but that was before I already lived my life. I am not even born in this time yet. I am merely an anomaly in the folds of the world, one that should not exist. Is there a future for me? _Thinking hard for a moment, he thought of Saphira, Arya, and all those whom he came to cherish in his time. He had to be strong for them and knowing his future could serve to strengthen him even more. Taking in a deep breath, he nodded opening his eyes to face Angela with a grim expression.

"Cast the bones for me, Angela."

Angela's face became grave as she grasped the bones in each hand. Her eyes closed, and her lips moved in a soundless murmur. Then she said powerfully, _"Manin! Wyrda!Hugin!" _and tossed the bones onto the cloth. He watched as they tumbled through the air, gleaming in the dim light of one of her oil lamps before they fell to the table the remnants of Angela's ringing voice fading as he waited for her to read him his fortune.

**I don't think I leave that much cliffhangers (at least in my view). Even in RL, I don't think there were that many cliffhangers in the plot line but more of like a wrapping up of the chapters at the end. In this story, however, I'm going to try and incorporate more cliffhangers since suspense is always a fun factor to building up the climax in a story. There'll be all types of cliffhangers like romance cliffhangers, plot line cliffhangers, or one just like the one at the end of this chapter. It's **fun...and** oh, I think I may have strained my big toe on my left feet. It hurts to put even the slightest weight on it. I've been confined to my bed almost all day today which is more reason for me to finish this chapter. In any case, I hope a good night's sleep would at least dull the stinging pain. ****See you all soon!**


	20. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

**The last chapter that ends this particular time jump sequence in TMF. The next chapter there will be another time jump so that it doesn't seem as if TMF is going at a snail's pace. (It's already at +100k words!) I feel like this story may top RL but I'm still contemplating whether or not I want to branch this story out into different stories or keep it as one. Each has its own merits I guess. In any case, huzzah for this chapter and its completion! And to answer the question of my big toe, I fell sideways and in an attempt to right myself put my entire weight on my left toe and that seemed to strain it but now it's feeling better. Hardly any pain (but still enough to make wearing sneakers quite painful!). In any case R&R!**

He waited watching as Angela bent over the table to observe the knucklebones with a frown. A long moment passed in which she stared at them before her eyes widened and she straightened to pierce him with such a surprised look he fought the urge to turn about wondering if some sort of vile creature was behind him. He waited for her to speak, raising a brow when she continued to stare at him her mouth slightly gaping open causing her to resemble a fish out of water.

"What is it Angela?" asked Eragon becoming rather annoyed at her lack of words.

"Your fortune…" she spoke in a croaking voice as if suddenly rather shaken from the inside. He blinked caught off guard at such a response from Angela. He had never seen her lack her usual self-confidence and mischief.

"What about it?" he waited, feeling his heart pound in his chest as Angela shook her head.

"There is nothing," she said in disbelief gesturing to the knucklebones. Confusion swept over him as he glanced downwards at the table and the knucklebones. What he saw made his eyes widen. All of the bones were blank. There was no sailing ship, no crescent moon, or symbol that represented longevity. There was nothing. He stared at the bones, feeling a wave of disbelief and desperation wash over him. If the bones portrayed nothing did that mean that he did not have a future? That his future was none existent?

"Are you sure these are the knucklebones of a dragon?" asked Eragon his eyes darting upwards to stare at Angela.

"Would you like me to show you the memory of how I retrieved them?" asked Angela, her expression borderlined affront as if she was insulted that he would question her. "I did not lie when I told you that they are, these bones do not lie nor do they cheat. What it says or doesn't is the truth of the matter."

"And what does it say?" asked Eragon with a frown, almost regretting that he had asked Angela to cast the bones for him. "Why doesn't it show anything? Why are all the bones blank? Is it not supposed to show me my future?"

"The bones did what they were meant to do," said Angela her eyes coming to rest on him, her mouth downturned. "They were meant to divulge your future and they did. It is not the knucklebones that are the reason as to why nothing appears, it is you Eragon. Your future is void of all things meaning that one, you are not truly living but seeing as I do not believe in haunting spirits and that you are certainly tangible I shall disregard that fact."

"And what are your other guesses?" asked Eragon wearily.

Angela glanced about hesitantly as if cautious of being overheard and leaned in closer to him, saying in a low voice. "You do not belong to this world."

He stared at her for a long moment making sure that his face was expressionless. Angela continued to look at him with an expression that said that she had uncovered a great mystery which soon turned into curiosity when Eragon made no move to speak. "Well?" prompted Angela after letting the silence settle in the room for some time.

"What would you have me say?" asked Eragon with a raised brow.

"If you would be as kind as to say yea or nay to my assumption that would be a start," Angela waited patiently for him to speak. He sighed, reaching forward to pick up one of the knucklebones studying it intently. He trusted Angela, there was no doubt about that fact and he knew that the witch would not use any valuable information for her own gain. But yet a part of him was afraid of her judgment. What would Angela say if she found out that he was tampering with time due to his own selfishness to live, even if it was for the better?

"Do you believe in life after death, Angela?" asked Eragon ignoring her question.

Frowning, Angela sat back to regard him with a hard expression before slowly speaking. "I cannot deny that there _isn't _a life after death but I have no evidence to confidently say that there is but…perhaps there is a spiritual world after death—another Alagaësia perhaps."

He nodded, rolling the knucklebone between his fingers. "Have you ever thought about changing the future?"

"By looking into it you mean?" asked Angela. He nodded watching as she shook her head. "That is impossible. It takes too much energy to try and see into the future. The most one could come close is by having premonitions—visions of the futures by dreaming not by summoning it with magic. And I dare not try to do so. There have been many accomplished magicians who have fallen prey to the mysteries of time and I do not intend to join their ranks."

"Then perhaps the past?"

"Still impossible," she narrowed her eyes at him. "What is the purpose behind all of these questions? I had thought you would be more interested in seeking answers as to why your future is devoid of all things. But rather you are sitting before me asking me of my opinion of time. I do not see how that pertains to you in the least."

"Perhaps I have overestimated you Angela," said Eragon lowering the knucklebone to the table as he leaned back to regard the curly haired witch. "I had always believed that you would solve anything if you used all of your efforts to do so. Clearly that is not the case here."

"Is that an insult?" asked Angela her eyes narrowed, her expression indignant.

"No, a mere thought on my part," he turned his head to stare at the caged squirrel feeling his lips pull at the corners. After a long moment, he turned back to Angela to find her staring at him with a perplexed expression. "Would you like more time Angela? Or perhaps you are going to sit there and stare at me—"

"You've done it," Angela breathed in disbelief as she stared at him.

"Done what?" He asked a part of him already knowing that Angela had finally pieced it together. The shock and incredulity on her face spoke volumes. He waited for her to continue, to say something but she merely stared at him for a lack of better words.

After a long moment she spoke.

"Time, you're changing time," Angela said looking as if she was finally seeing him for the first time. "I had always thought your personality was different from others but I disregarded that as a part of your culture but it was more. It was always more it seems."

"What was always more?" asked Eragon quietly.

"The way you seem to know how to speak to Rosalie, how you advise Weldon, how you train the Varden, how you interact with Brom," said Angela listing off various examples, her words tumbling from her lips as she seemed to make connections that she'd overlooked. "And there's the way you always seem to hover over the elven ambassador—"

"Her name is Arya," Eragon reminded Angela with a frown.

"—constantly looking out for her when no one else is watching, rarely ever rude when you are to everyone else, looking like a starved pup—"

"I beg your pardon?" asked Eragon as he stared at Angela in disbelief but she ignored him and continued to mutter to herself, the gears turning in her mind as she stared at the knucklebones, her eyes far off.

"—almost as if you want to sweep her off her feet, very mutinous when others portray any sort of interest, spending ungodly hours—"

"Are you done insulting me?" asked Eragon annoyed.

"It all makes sense," said Angela ignoring his annoyance as if he was not even sitting before her. Then nearly startling him from his seat, she slammed both palms flat on the table, her eyes large. Chest heaving, she spoke the one sentence that he both dreaded and wanted to hear. "You have traveled into the past. You have somehow managed to cross the barriers of time and transpose your physical body into the past. You've managed something that not even the greatest of magicians could ever seek to accomplish." Her expression suddenly grew curious. "How did you do it?"

"I did not," said Eragon holding Angela's gaze. "It was a favor that I had asked of someone and they granted it to me," when Angela opened her mouth to protect, he shook his head. "Nothing more."

"You will not deny it then? That you come from a different time?" Angela pressed.

He did not say anything and his silence seemed to have confirmed Angela's suspicions. She stared at him at a loss for words before glancing down at the blank knucklebones. "Let me ask one more question since you are prone to not giving answers freely," said Angela, her expression morphing into one that was somber and grave. "Have you been born yet?"

Closing his eyes, Eragon sighed before he shook his head.

There was a flash of light before he found himself falling from his chair, coughing slightly as he stared up at Angela with an incredulous expression. Reaching up to touch his lip, he was surprised to pull his hand back to find dark red liquid staining his skin. "Did you just attack me?" asked Eragon in surprise.

Angela stood over him, her expression dark before she sighed. "I would do more than just knock you in the mouth with my fist but you have more to worry on your plate than an irate witch. Just think of that as me scolding you for risking your existence."

His initial anger at her physical attack was instantly diminished as he listened to her words and he knew that Angela, in her own strange and violent way, cared about him as the friend she proclaimed that he was to her. Merely sitting on the ground, he sighed when he felt the caress of Arya's magic against his bleeding lip.

"Why does your body seem to heal itself?" asked Angela. "You never really explained it and I doubt that it could be your _largest _secret yet seeing as traveling back in time weighs rather _heavily_ on the mind, you know."

"It is personal," said Eragon refusing to budge on his decision to keep his bond between him and Arya a secret. Angela merely huffed before letting the matter aside. She was silent for a moment before she spoke again.

"Why did you travel back?" asked Angela curiously. "Did the world end?"

"For someone who rarely ever answers my question, you certainly have quite a few for me," said Eragon staring at Angela in amusement finding a least some sort of humor from her questioning him. He was torn between relief and disorientation from how easily she was cooperating with him. He had thought she would have reacted much differently. _Though I was not expecting to be socked in the jaw, _said Eragon thinking back to how quick the witch had caused him to tumble from his seat with a well planted fist to his mouth.

"Yes, well, contrary to popular belief, I don't know _everything. _What I do not know, I ask about," said Angela with a shrug of her shoulders. "It is as simple as that."

"I suppose."

"Then will you answer me?"

He sighed before saying in a low tone, "I died and I was granted a second chance to right things."

"You _died?_"

He nodded watching as Angela began to pace back and forth seemingly trying to wrap her mind about the concept. She was muttering to herself for quite some time before she let forth a shout of triumph. "What is it?" asked Eragon glancing at her as if she had lost her mind.

"That would explain the knucklebones," said Angela hurriedly as she made her way to the table picking up a slim, smooth bone between her fingers to examine. Her eyes darted to him and then away.

"What do you mean?" asked Eragon in confusion.

"What I mean is that since you have yet to be born, the dragon knucklebones are unable to read your future," said Angela, nodding to herself. "You said you had died and was sent back as a favor from _someone…_which leads me to believe that you are not really a part of this world. You are not really here, Eragon."

"What are you talking about?" he asked tiredly his mind beginning to form a migraine at her roundabout way of explanation.

She set the knucklebone down and instead turned to caged squirrel walking over to observe it through the slim bars. "You are like this squirrel," she said pointing to the cage. Eragon stared at her feeling insulted that she found him comparable to a rabid animal. "Take a look at this squirrel for a moment Eragon. It exists but it is caged off from the world—isolated by these bars. What is to say that whatever magic that brought you here doesn't work in the same fashion? What if theoretically you never traveled back in time but just crossed dimensions?"

He blinked, digesting her words trying to get a feel of what she was saying. A part of him understood where Angela was heading with her words but a great majority of him was bewildered. "Meaning?"

"Meaning that instead of traveling years back in time, the folds of this world was ripped so that it could accompany your presence," explained Angela. "You would still exist here but you would be isolated from us—still connected to your world. Perhaps with this tear in planes, not one but two worlds of Alagaësia exist."

"You are saying that I am the connection between my Alagaësia and this one?" asked Eragon with brows furrowed. If what Angela said was true than that would mean that the time he'd spent in this Alagaësia, another one was marching at the same pace—another one in which his loved ones were living without him.

"Exactly!" she began to pace about, "And then when the convergence happens in which point both worlds of Alagaësia approaches a fixed point, the old Alagaësia—yours—would disappear as if it had never existed."

"And what is this fixed point?" asked Eragon his mind racing to try and piece together Angela's explanation. It was impressive how Angela could suddenly construct a theory as to his time travel when she only had a few moments to think about it when he had nearly three decades.

"Your death and birth," said Angela gravely turning her head to him. "What would happen Eragon is that if you live and hypothetically speaking of course, you are born in this Alagaësia as according to time and circumstance, you will create a paradox. There will be an imbalance in between the two worlds see, you are dead in your Alagaësia—the one you came from. While in this Alagaësia, two of you exist. Therefore, once you are born this paradox will continue to grow and it will only cease when you die."

"And when I die, the Alagaësia that I come from will also die with me," murmured Eragon, feeling a great weight press down on him. Even if Angela's theory wasn't proven yet, even if it was all mere speculation there was nothing for him to base his time traveling on apart from Angela's spontaneous thoughts.

"Theoretically speaking it will," said Angela as she poked the stem of a mushroom through the bars of the cage that the squirrel was trapped in, its teeth clanging against the metal loudly as it tried to chew itself free. "However, if you look at it from another perspective, it does not mean that the world that you come from dies, it just means that it never existed in the first place. Remember, this theory only holds any sort of validity if we are to assume that you did not time travel but you merely traveled between dimensions which of course is odd to say because in a sense this is time traveling no matter how you look at it but just not in the way that we believe it to be…oh, and now I've confused you it seems."

"You have," muttered Eragon rubbing his face tiredly. "What would happen if I live past the fixed point? If I still existed here and my other self was born?"

"What else would happen? There will be two of you here therefore creating a paradox when only one Eragon should exist," said Angela tapping her chin thoughtfully. "If we were to talk about the magnitude of what this paradox would create we will be talking about the entirety of magic becoming distorted for on one hand we have you—Eragon," her eyes darted to him and she lifted a hand to emphasize her statement. "And on the other we also have Eragon but the one that has yet to born."

"So what you are saying is that I have to die in order to right the world?" asked Eragon.

"If we are going with my theory than yes," said Angela, she hurried forward. "However, that is yet to be seen. I was just rambling and there is little evidence to show that my words hold any actual weight. For all we know, I could be wrong."

"I am nothing more than an anomaly then," murmured Eragon picking himself off of the floor to return to his seat. He sat there with his fingers interlaced trying to wrap his mind about the idea that Angela had proposed. If what she said was correct in theory than his existence in this Alagaësia was the reason for the split in worlds. What if his Alagaësia still existed? What if Arya, Saphira, and his family were living without him? Staring down at the table before him he took in the blank knucklebones.

_I have no future—not in this world, _thought Eragon sadly.

"You are taking this in rather well," said Eragon eventually as he observed Angela as she began to bustle about. He watched as she created a fire with magic underneath a black pot in which she began to pour ingredients into. "I had thought you would be tying me to a table to dissect me."

"You aren't that interesting," said Angela simply. "And besides, why would I want to dissect you? I know perfectly well how the male anatomy works—and do not dare ask me how. In any case, I had always thought you were strange and _otherworldly_ if I do say so myself."

"What were your guesses?" asked Eragon curiously.

"That you were a Shade in disguise or that you were the spirit of an Urgal come back to bring justice to his—" at his incredulous expression she stopped. "Yes well, you didn't give me much to work with so if you are dissatisfied with my other theories, I apologize."

He chuckled humorlessly. "If there was one thing I could count on, it was the fact that you would always react differently from others and yet always the same."

"Is that so?" She blinked, peering at him from where she stood over the pot. "Tell me, did you know me in the other Alagaësia? In your Alagaësia?"

"I knew you but not like how I know you now but then again, what did anyone know about you apart from your name, your appearance, and your strange disposition?" answered Eragon lifting the knucklebones to toss them gently onto the table watching as the smooth objects fell. "Strange how time works. But in a way, it makes sense."

"Circles upon circles of questions and yet no answers," said Angela shaking her head as she lifted a ladle to stir whatever it was that she was cooking.

He nodded agreeing with her completely. "I suppose it was because of my own selfishness that this happened and it is only fair that in the end, I atone for it," Eragon said leaning back in his chair and letting his eyes roam Angela's secret room. "Not much else can be done now. I have wished it and now I must pay for it."

"But you knew it was never going to be easy, didn't you?" asked Angela quietly.

"I knew."

She was silent and didn't say anymore leaving him to his thoughts for he was grateful. Instead he merely sat there trying to think of a world without him and Galbatorix. If what Angela was saying was true and the Alagaësia he came from still existed…_Murtagh or Arya would have become the new leader of the Riders. Nasuada would become queen of the Empire. Ella would be a grown woman by now with her own family. And Saphira…Saphira…_

He stopped unable to continued thinking about his beautiful dragon. He did not know how Saphira could deal with the grief of losing him. If her pain was anything like Arya's or even more, it would have no doubt crippled her. Then thinking back on it, the same thing could be said for Arya—who had given part of her soul to him. Was a part of him still living within her? Was that piece of his soul giving her solace and comfort when he was not there?

"Here," he glanced up when Angela placed a bowl before him in which a white creamy soup rested in, steam coming from the liquid. "You looked hungry and I doubt you have yet to eat since you came here. You've had a busy day after all."

"I do not think I am hungry," murmured Eragon ready to decline the offered meal.

Angela merely glared at him as she gestured to the wooden spoon. "Humor me," she said. "It is not often that I cook for someone else and when I do it is a thing of beauty. You will never taste soup as fine as this."

He snorted already thinking of the best soup he'd ever tasted in his life and that was the one that Arya had cooked for him once when he was sick with a fever. Picking up his wooden spoon, he scooped up a spoonful and ate it letting the warm and delicious taste flood his sense before he swallowed. It made him feel slightly better but only slightly. "Thank you," said Eragon sincerely as he continued to eat.

Angela merely waved it off before she spoke, "I am somewhat surprised that you haven't made me swear an oath of secrecy or whatnot seeing as I know such a vital piece of information regarding you. You are not someone who gives answers away freely from the time I've spent with you."

"I trust that you would not go about saying my personal life to others," said Eragon eating another spoonful. "You were never one to divulge someone else's life or information to others. That is just how you are as a person."

"Perhaps," agreed Angela.

Turning his head to the side, he stared at the caged squirrel for a long moment before he continued eating. Little else was said as the two of them sat there deep in their own thoughts and when it was time for them to part ways, he could not help but admit that he was glad. Though a part of him was relieved in the fact that Angela now shared in his burdens, another part of he found the idea of someone else truly knowing him for who he was as strange. He had been so used to being known as Eragon, the elf-rider who had joined the Varden and not as anyone else. It was almost as if he had found himself once more after such a long time of wandering. Shaking his head, he was about to make his way back to his room before he stopped.

He did not want to be bothered today. He did not want to go back to find a stack of scrolls waiting for him to read or reports about anything to do with Galbatorix. Instead he turned away and began to wander from tunnel to tunnel not really seeking out any precise location but just willing for his feet to take him somewhere.

Eventually he found himself in a wide area in which he saw several dwarves at working mining precious and valuable ores from the ground. Nodding to them as he passed, he took a seat on a barrel out of the way of their work and sat there observing them. The dwarves did not seem to mind his presence least he did not interrupt their line of duty. Sitting there, he watched them go about their business.

They left him to his own devices and he was content to merely watch them until his eyes caught sight of an open barrel beside him that was filled to the brink with fine sand. Blinking at the sight of the white grain that appeared to be from the Hadarac Desert, he reached over and touched the sand feeling the softness of it against his finger.

Staring at the material for a long moment, he blinked when a thought came to him. Gently cupping a great deal of sand in his hand, he began to murmur lowly in the ancient language watching as the grains of sand in his hand began to glow a burning red but not actually harming him. Using a series of spells, he watched as the sand began to shift in his eyes until at long last a beautiful hourglass rested in his hands in which sand fell slowly from the near full top half of the hourglass. _Time, _thought Eragon watching the sand for a long moment.

"What a strange concept," murmured Eragon as he eyed the hourglass. Letting the grains of sand shift through the glass, he sat there doing nothing else and making no attempt to. Just this one moment of reprieve was enough. He did not want to think of the assassination attempt, of Elvina, of his lack of a future, and of Angela's disheartening theory. He merely sat there letting his thoughts flow and not thinking of anything in particular.

And he sat there until the dwarves had gone late into the night merely leaving him there to sit and ponder his thoughts. His eyes darted to the hourglass in his hands. Only half of the sand had managed to make its way to the bottom half of the hourglass and nothing more. Tapping his fingers against the glass that he had made from his magic, he sighed. _What was time? _Closing his eyes for a moment, he opened them to glance about the empty area devoid of any living creature apart from him. _Isolate from this world…it does sound like my life now. I do not belong here. I didn't need you to tell me that for me to understand, Angela._

"Eragon?"

He blinked glancing to his left to find Arya standing off to the side in front of the entrance to the tunnel that she had just stepped out from. He stared at her, his eyes wide. He had next expected her to be out here at so late a time. Apparently, she was not expecting the same of him either for her face also showed the surprise that he felt.

"Arya, what are you doing here?" asked Eragon as she made her way over to him, stopping beside where he sat atop the barrel, hourglass in hand.

"I was merely wandering the halls of Farthen Dûr without much thought in mind and my feet carried me here," explained Arya, her eyes taking his appearance in. He watched as her expression turned slightly worrying. "And you? What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted a moment of solitude that was all," said Eragon honestly watching as Arya gracefully lowered herself onto the barrel beside him.

"Quite much has happened today that perhaps a moment alone would do you much good," said Arya, her emerald eyes flickering to the hourglass in his hands before they turned back to him. The moment their eyes met, he felt guilt overwhelm him. Not for the first time since he'd seen Arya, he was ashamed to face her. Compared to Arya, he was weak. So very weak in face of her strong determinism and courage. He had wanted a second life because he couldn't stand the thought of being torn away from her and Saphira and his loved ones and in payment for his wish, he was sacrificing his Alagaësia.

Averting his eyes, he shifted the hourglass in his hands. _And now I've become a spineless coward who can't even face Arya anymore, _Eragon thought to himself bitterly as he sat there unable to lift his head. The two of them were quiet for some time and it seemed as if Arya was merely there to offer him her silent support, both causing his affections for her to bloom and the guilt in his heart to deepen. _I want to your forgiveness, Arya…_

"I never said this before Eragon," said Arya gently, suddenly speaking in the ancient language which caused him to still in surprise. Not even risking a chance at breathing, he sat there quiet and still. "But thank you for what you did for my family."

"What are you talking about?" asked Eragon quietly. "I did nothing that deserves praise."

"You saved my father," said Arya her voice serious. "The ring on your left hand is proof that you have done something of great weight for us. If it had not been for you he would not have returned to me as he did all those years ago. They said that his sword had snapped whilst he was dueling Galbatorix and you ran to his defense, guarding him from a blow that would have surely killed him."

He remained quiet and just barely let air pass through his nostril so that he could keep breathing. She continued in her still calm and quiet voice, "When I look back at how different things could have been, I am glad that you were there that day to fight alongside us. Had you not been there, my father would have been killed and we would have been lost after the Fall. Even now, you are trying your best to turn the Varden into a group that can withhold their own against Galbatorix."

"It is not much," murmured Eragon.

"You would not think so but everyone else values your dedication, Eragon," said Arya in a hard voice causing him to lift his head to stare at her, finding her emerald eyes once more. She shifted on the barrel slightly before hesitantly continuing. "It is rather embarrassing to say so myself but…part of the reason that I am here is because of what you told me all those years ago. I could not bring myself to sit idly in Ellesméra when you were here fighting."

"Arya…" he began softly. She shook her head, her cheeks tinging a slight pink at her confession and he felt humbled and moved by her words. To think that he had that much of an effect on her decision to leave Ellesméra made him hopeful.

"What I am trying to say Eragon is that I am glad that you are here else events would have gone much differently," said Arya eventually. "And I may not have as much experience as you in matters such as this but I am learning and I hope that one day you would be able to depend on me just as you have let me depend on you in the short time I have been here."

He sat there digesting her words letting it warm his heart and yet a small part of him felt even guiltier. He could not help but think of _his _Arya more so now than ever after his conversation with Angela and how she could be living in a world without him. It was unfair and it made his heart hurt. And yet all he could was smile because Arya—the one beside him—had admitted that he was an important figure in her life and the small irrational part of him that belonged to Arya could not help but feel touched.

As they sat there together, their shoulders touching he could not help but wish deep down in his heart for something that no longer within his reach.

**I don't know if any of you have realized it yet but in this story Angela and Eragon are good friends (something I always thought about if we were to speak about the original IC). In this story I guess she sticks with him and helps him out a majority of the time. But now the secret is out with Angela (the first person I wanted to know). And things are going slowly and filler-ish but hopefully next chapter it will pick up. We still have a lot of Forsworn to go through, Elvina to get to know, Selena to be born, Fäolin to introduce, and a struggle for Arya's affections to write about (Sorry Eragon but it won't be as easy as RL for you this time around). In any case look forward to it! I shall try my best to see you all soon!**


	21. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

**My computer is dying so I thought I would post this chapter up. If there are any errors, I shall go back and see to it. Also, if you all could point it out to me in the reviews it would be helpful for me to catch! (Torn between getting a beta for this story. Once more, it's update speed vs. a few grammatical mistakes/typos. It's all up to you readers). In any case before you read this chapter, I shall elaborate on the time jump. There's been a seven year jump since Arya had joined the Varden (six years since the last chapter). I know quite some time have gone by. But there's still plenty more to go by. With that explained, please enjoy this chapter! R&R!**

"Get down!" Eragon yelled as another torrent of flames rained down on them. Trying to escape the raging inferno he sprinted off to the side, but it appeared as if his opponent was determined to see to it that he burned. Sliding behind the cover of large boulders that littered the mountain range of the Beor Mountains, he gritted his teeth as he felt another burst of heat above his head. He could let the flames be tested on his wards, but it would give away too much of how knowledgeable he was in the art of magic and wards. He wanted Kialandí to believe he had the upper hand, he wanted the Forsworn to think that Eragon was weak.

As the jet of flames continued, he crouched behind the boulder evaluating his surroundings. There must be something he could use for his own purpose. Kialandí was strong but he only assumed that was because he had taken Agaravel's Eldunarí for his own use and Eragon had the sneaking suspicion that the traitorous elf also took the Eldunarí of Arva's dragon. Crouched there with Brisingr gripped tightly in his right hand, he furiously thought. His men were holding off against the small group of reinforcements that Kialandí had brought with him for the purpose of disrupting the lives about the Beor Mountains hoping to draw the Varden out, but they were a step ahead of him.

"What are you talking about?" asked Eragon as he stared at Elvina, who had once more rudely barged into his living quarters. He had no idea how she had managed to find the hidden hallway but she did. After her first month in the Varden, she had located his chambers, no doubt due to her perceptive nature and had seemingly made it a mission to constantly irritate him.

"Like I had said," said Elvina as she sat on the edge of his desk, "There has been some strange movement about the Beor Mountains. I thought I saw something in the sky once during my wanderings."

He frowned. Elvina during the last few years that he had known her tended to wander about on her own disappearing for large lengths at a time before mysteriously reappearing once more. The longest time in which she disappeared was a year at most, and he felt glad that he did not have to tend to her presence in which she constantly seemed to try to irritate him. Not only that but whenever Arya was about, she also made it a point to make her uncomfortable. Eragon, himself, had to refrain from snapping at Elvina's rude and affronting remarks. Though he had to question Elvina and her purpose the longer she stayed with the Varden. She was not passionate about anything. While she seemed to share a unique interest in chasing what interested her, she did not care for anything else.

There was a cold difference between her and the witch. Angela was bright and she had an eccentric personality but Elvina was not. She was cold and aloof and did tasks that she only deemed herself worthy of. She was unlike Desdemona who beheld herself proudly due to her noble upbringing and nor was she like Arya's regality. No, there was something much more dangerous to Elvina. And she did nothing to ease his suspicions, instead she only seemed to feed them. Despite knowing her for a great length of time, he still did not trust her fully. There was something about Elvina that was too relaxed, too indifferent. If one did not regard her carefully, it would almost appear as if she did not care about anything in the world at all.

"What would I care about your wanderings?" asked Eragon turning back to his reports. "You have yet to tell me what you tend to do when you wander about up until now. Why should I take into account anything that you may see wherever you tend to disappear on your own?" He shifted through the reports, shuffling them neatly.

"There is no need for you to be rude about my helping you," said Elvina as she reached forward to pick up the glass orb that sat on his desk, staring at the white rose embedded in it. "I am simply trying to help you even though you appear too proud to ask for it."

"I do not need your help," said Eragon not glancing up at her haughty and beautiful profile. He was content to merely ignore Elvina and her words, until she let out an annoyed sound before her hand came down and pressed his papers down on his desk. Lips curling back in a sneer, he glanced up and was immediately uncomfortable when he found her directly before him, her face close enough that he could feel her breath wash over his skin.

Her blue eyes were piercing as she stared down at him, and her lips were curled into a frown of her own. "There is no need to be stubborn and prideful about it Eragon," she said her voice low and sharp like daggers as if she was offended that he had denied her helpful words. She appeared insulted Eragon recognized vaguely. "If you listen to me perhaps you can save the Varden more grief than it would suffer if you were to ignore my goodwill."

His brows slanted dangerously as he regarded her. With a glare, he reached forward to take his glass orb from her hands returning it to its stand on his desk. He wanted to tell her to stop touching his things, but it seemed that she had quite the tendency to ignore his words. "Goodwill?" he scoffed. "Enough with your words Elvina. I am busy and if you would be kind enough to keep out of my chambers or rather stop inviting yourself inside that would be greatly appreciated."

"So stubborn," said Elvina her blue eyes narrowing at him slightly. She refused to lift her hand from his texts, and he waited seeing which one of them would give first. "I still want to know why it seems as if you are rude to everyone else but the elven ambassador—"

"Arya," Eragon interjected out of habit as Elvina spoke. She knew that he was annoyed each time she mentioned Arya merely by station when she knew her well enough to recall her name without much thought. He saw the slightest smirk on her face at the sight of his growing irritation. _Calm yourself Eragon, _he thought himself, _do not let Elvina get the better of you._

"Why is that?" asked Elvina appearing genuinely curious.

"That is none of your concern," Eragon replied. Then with a tug of his hand, he practically ripped his texts from underneath her hand. Her lips pursed as she continued to hold him beneath her glare. "Now, if you have nothing better to do but waste my time perhaps you can kindly see yourself out."

"You are very rude Eragon," Elvina repeated once more a feral smirk coming to her face. "But I find that characteristic rather appealing on you."

Knowing how her comments made him awkward, Eragon instantly fought the urge to cringe. He did not know if Elvina did so in order to intentionally put him in an awkward situation but she did well enough. Unused to such comments, he merely sat there before sighing. Leaning back in his seat, he continued to read the documents while Elvina stretched from where she sat atop his desk. She seemed inclined to stay and no matter what he said, she wasn't going to leave.

"What is the significance of the white rose?" asked Elvina, her forefinger lightly gliding over the glass orb. He paused in his readings to glance at the object that she was once more focusing her attention on. She had asked him many times over the few years that she'd spent within the Varden about the rose but he never gave her answer. That did not seem to daunt her, however, for she continued to ask. Whether it was out of sheer determination to see him cave to her whims or a genuine curiosity on her part he did not know.

"That is also no concern of yours," said Eragon.

"One day, I shall learn all of your secrets," said Elvina with great certainty while Eragon merely snorted.

"I shall let you continue to live in such disillusions," said Eragon.

"In any case," said Elvina, her tone growing serious. "It would be prudent that you and perhaps a few of your men scout the Beor Mountains. I was not lying when I said I saw something that could pose a threat to the Varden."

He did not say anything but the fact that Elvina had thought that what she had seen was important enough to reiterate to him made him cautious. Deciding not to tell her that he would look into what she had said, he kept quiet and continued to read his reports while she merely sat with a thoughtful look on her face atop his desk.

"Come out! Or are you really the elf who had managed to kill Aegnor?" Kialandí called to him. He could hear the self-satisfaction in his voice as if he had cornered a frightened animal and was preparing to kill it with ease. It was rather unfortunate for him that he was dealing with Eragon. Smirking to himself slightly as he hid behind the boulder, Eragon lurched forward letting his feet slide out from underneath him as he went skidding down a slope in the ground leading Kialandí far from his men.

He needed to isolate Kialandí like he had done to Darius once before. As long as the elf was atop his dragon he would be unable to reach. Easily using his surroundings as cover, he blinked when he felt a tingle on the back of his neck and narrowly ducked a bright bolt of violet magic that was aimed for his head. _Keep chasing me, Kialandí you fool, _thought Eragon viciously as he hurried forward.

Elvina had been correct in her assumption. After she had spoken to him, he had gone to Weldon a few days prior and though the leader of the Varden was now rather aged, his mind was still sharp. He had ordered that Eragon and a scouting party left the Beor Mountains to search about the area that Elvina had indicated and sure enough he had found Kialandí and his purple dragon as well as a camp of soldiers shuffling through the paths in the Beor Mountains in search of a tunnel into Farthen Dûr.

_Perhaps I should give Elvina more credit, _thought Eragon as he propelled himself behind a boulder that was ten times his size. Reaching into Aren for the magic that he had stored away over the decades, he shouted in the ancient language, "Jierda!"

The boulder exploded outwards filtering the air with thousands of tiny shards of rock. They bounced harmlessly off of his wards and he could see them flying towards Kialandí and his dragon, bouncing off of their wards as well. Scowling, he continued to sprint about as they pursued him. There was another flash of light and the ground beside him was instantly lit in flames as his spell struck narrowly missing Eragon.

He threw his own crackling bolt of magic at Kialandí watching as his dragon easily maneuvered through the air to dodge about it. Easily dodging another one, he clenched his teeth as Kialandí continued to taunt him from above. "What a pitiful warrior you are!" he jeered mockingly at Eragon as his dragon swooped down, jaws snapping.

He rolled avoiding the sharp teeth that bore down on him and in doing so, he kept Brisingr perpendicular to his body cutting a deep gash on the underside of Kialandí's dragon's body. The purple dragon gave a howl of pain as it lifted itself higher into the air and away from his blade. Ignoring the sizzling pain on his skin as deep drops of red blood fell to him, Eragon jumped back as Kialandí threw more magic at him, each in rapid succession in his anger.

Cursing that he was stuck to the ground, he continued to run about the ground as they flew above him. Another bolt of crackling energy came down upon him and as he tried to dodge it, the bright energy made contact with another rock boulder on the ground causing it to explode beside Eragon. The force of the explosion sent him propelling backwards into rough base of the mountain knocking all the wind from him. Head slamming hard against the rock, he felt his vision slip from his grasp as a chill settled over his body.

_Get up, _Eragon thought to himself sluggishly against the darkness that threatened to overwhelm him as pain erupted in the back of his head. He could hear the flapping of wind above him, the laughter of triumph, and the whistle of wind but could not will his body to respond. Groaning slightly as he tried to shake off the pain, he shuddered when he tried to move. Of all the careless mistakes to make, thought Eragon darkly.

"_Beaten so easily?"_

_Blinking, he glanced up not seeing the green of the grass, the white of the mountains, nor the blue of the sky. All he saw was a white background and beneath him was a patch of white lilies, swaying gently in the nonexistent breeze. Where was this? Tentatively moving to his feet, he turned about wondering who had spoken to him. The voice, in that moment of dull pain, sounded familiar._

_Before he could so much as take a step, the soft voice spoke once more and this time he froze on the spot recognizing it. "Do not tell me that not fighting constantly has caused you to become lax in your skills," the feminine voice chided him gently, amused almost. Instantly he felt his heart stop and his throat close up as he recognized the voice that he heard almost daily for the past seven years but felt like he was hearing for the first time in nearly four decades. "You are losing your edge, Eragon."_

_He blinked, swallowing thickly so tempted to turn about but unable to bring himself to. Instead, he stood there with his head bowed trying to organize his thoughts. After a long moment, he finally spoke. "Arya?"_

_He heard her soft sigh of acknowledgement before he felt a small hand grip his upper right forearm, the pressure familiar and heartwarming. "You foolish man," she said gently, her voice soothing him. In that moment, all the uncertainty and doubt that he felt in the last few decades was wiped from his mind because he knew that this Arya—the one speaking to him was his. "Do not let someone as low and unforgiving as Kialandí best you. You have fought far worse than him."_

"_I must look like a failure to you," said Eragon softly unsure if this Arya was a mere figment of his imagination that his injured head had conjured up or if she was the living piece that was wrapped deep within his soul. "Are you ashamed of my choices Arya? Are you ashamed of me?"_

_She made a sound between a scoff and a sigh at his question before he felt warm arms wrap about his body from behind. Her embrace touched him, caressing his body, heart, and soul as he stood there his eyes stinging with emotions. "Never," said Arya gently, her head resting against his back. "What is there to be ashamed of?"_

"_My weaknesses…my failures," murmured Eragon. "I—died. I left you and Saphira and everyone else behind."_

_Arya did not say anything but her arms tightened about him and the two of them were silent as they stood there together. Then she spoke, her voice quiet. "You foolish man," she repeated gently. He couldn't do anything but nod, agreeing with her words. Then she spoke once more, saying his true name in a tender voice. "Remember your promises to me, Eragon?"_

"_Yes," whispered Eragon in reply._

"_I am still waiting for you to make well on your words."_

Gasping for air as if he had been deprived of it, Eragon blinked immediately rolling away when he heard a silent hiss cut through the air. Kialandí's purple blade tore off a piece of rock as it missed Eragon's body. Gripping Brisingr in his hand tightly, he shook his head to clear his disoriented mind. The Forsworn looked displeased at the fact that Eragon had narrowly escaped death but he did nothing more than curl his lips downward in a scowl.

"You are more bothersome than I thought you would be," said Kialandí as he pinned Eragon with his deep chestnut eyes, his dark hair framing his fair face. He lifted his sword to study the blade as if afraid that it was damaged when it struck the mountain side. Satisfied that it was in good condition, he turned to Eragon. "I flew all the way here and even brought several soldiers to greet you and here you are repaying my kindness ungraciously."

"You think rather highly of yourself," said Eragon as he reached up to draw Vrangr, his mind clearing slightly of the fog that blanketed it earlier. But he did not forget the feel of Arya's embrace nor the emotion behind her words. Even if his mind made up that moment, even if it was not real he would cherish it. That moment was the only moment he had with her in so long and he would keep it forever.

Kialandí did not say anything but merely began to advance on Eragon. He kicked at the rubble on the ground as if trying to taunt him. "I had heard the rumors that there was an elf about in the Beor Mountains helping the Varden but never would I have thought that it was another bothersome remnant of the Order," said Kialandí. "I had thought that fool Brom was one fool too many and yet here we have another Rider that is meddling about. When will you admit that you have lost? That there is no possibility that you can win anymore? Without a dragon, you can hope to do nothing else but grovel at King Galbatorix's feet."

"I see you are below Formora," said Eragon mockingly as he began to circle Kialandí careful to keep his back to the mountain face and away from open space in case Kialandí's dragon decided to make an appearance. "She does not refer to Galbatorix as her king." In the short encounter he had with Formora, all she ever called Galbatorix by was his name. She never referenced him as majesty, king, or lord. Kialandí was different, however. He did not seem reluctant to acknowledge Galbatorix as the greater power.

"Formora likes to believe that she is the better of us," said Kialandí nonplused by Eragon's insult. "Though she is a Forsworn, she has her own way about things. As long as she answers to the king, she can do as she please."

So she was different from the rest of the Forsworn thought Eragon slightly interested as he and Kialandí began to circle about each other. Studying Kialandí intently, his eyes darted about the elf trying his best to see if he could find any sort of opening. His father had told him long ago that the trick to dealing with the Forsworn was not through brute strength but through cunning and intelligence. Even if he had to fight unfairly, he would have to utilize every advantage that he could.

Like always, he waited until his opponent struck first. It always gave him the needed time to think and prepare as well as allow him to understand his opponent's mindset. Kialandí moved quickly and once more Eragon had no doubt in his mind that the elf was aided by the Eldunarí. He moved faster than Aegnor did when Eragon had battled with him years earlier, and there was an air of confidence in the elf's steps that made him cautious.

This was the elf that had woven complicated magic to trap and cripple Oromis. With that thought in mind, Eragon felt his caution double. When their blades met, his brows furrowed when he felt a great strength push against him. Had he not merged his soul with Arya and Asura and had undergone several transformations, he would have been pushed back like reeds in an autumn breeze. Standing his ground, he felt a flash of satisfaction course through him at the surprise on Kialandí's expression at being unable to overtake Eragon.

_I am not as weak as you believe me to be, _thought Eragon with grim satisfaction as he beheld Kialandí. Then with a great push, he shoved Kialandí back watching the elf stumble slightly before he regained his footing. He started forward this time, his earlier confidence diminishing as he held his purple sword parallel to his body, studying Eragon intently.

Then he spoke in a low voice. "Who are you?"

"I have no reason to answer your questions," said Eragon as he lunged forward, springing through the air with great force. Instead of directly attacking Kialandí, he turned and flew past his purple blade and with a quick sweep of his feet sent the elf tumbling to the ground in surprise. _You do not know it, but I was also taught by Galbatorix, _thought Eragon as he brought Brisingr down only to make contact with the ground. The moment his blade slammed into the hard earth, he grimaced at the jarring pain that traveled straight through his arm.

Quickly bringing Vrangr before him to block a blow to his neck, he twisted his wrist allowing their blades to slide past each other until they came free. There was a second's pause between the two of them before they brought their swords together with a resounding clash. Hilts locked, Eragon smirked as he brought Brisingr up and sliced a deep gash in Kialandí's arm watching as the elf pulled back in shocked surprise.

His expression was enough to tell Eragon that it had been years since he'd felt the pain of an injury. But his injury did not daunt Kialandí, instead it seemed to make the elf even more dangerous as he swung his blade forward once more.

Their swords met in a flurry of sparks, clangs of metal renting the air and filling their ears as they tried to batter away at each other. Whenever it seemed as if one person had gained an advantage over the other, the tide would shift and turn and the battle would draw out even more. At one point, Eragon had managed to dislodge Kialandí's sword from his hands only to be struck in the chest but a ball of light that sent him reeling. His moment's disorientation gave Kialandí enough time to recover his blade and strike back.

Twisting his arm over Kialandí's as he jabbed his sword forward, he roughly elbowed the elf in the chest knocking the breath out of him. Bringing his sword up to deal the elf a fatal blow to his chest, he blinked when he felt a tail whip into him from behind knocking him forward. Having forgotten about the purple dragon, Eragon cursed rolling to his feet as he ignored the aching pain in his back.

He turned towards Kialandí and moved to step forward only to blink when he felt his feet planted to the ground and the flow of the world shift about him. There was a moment of vertigo in which he felt as if he was floating out of his body before the sensation twisted into something more painful and overwhelming. It was as if all of his senses were on fire. The pain started out small at first, deep in the center of his chest before growing and growing into a burning fire that seized his body and flashed through his nerves. Heaving in a deep breath, he blinked as his eyes darted down to the purple line of pulsing magic that circled him.

Was this the same spell that he had used on Oromis?

"I used this spell once before," said Kialandí as he approached Eragon with a glint in his eyes as the evening sun shone down on them casting a bloody glow on the white mountain range. "Years ago, when Formora and I fooled one of the elders. It was almost pitiful now that I looked back on it. How come the elder, for all of his wisdom and knowledge, not see that the traitors were directly before him. It only serves to show that the Order was nothing more than a meaningless council that only did to restrict us."

"You betrayed them," said Eragon refusing to show any sort of pain as each word left his lips, feeling like he was burning from the inside out. There was another shift in magic about him and suddenly it felt as if the entire world was inverted in his eyes.

"The strong live and rule," said Kialandí. "That is how nature works. Wolves rule the forests not deer. If you are weak, then you should not rule over the strong. The world does not work that way. The Order was wrong, and we fixed it. Had they been strong, then we would have been killed and that would have been our just punishment for betraying them. But they were not strong. They fell and died by our hands, by thirteen Forsworn and King Galbatorix. Doru Araeba, Iliera, King Evandar and the elven army, each and every one of them were too weak to fight us. We are the just victors and what is history if not written by those that are victorious? The Riders had their moment to bask in their glory and stagnant age. Now it is gone and replaced with a new era."

"Gone for what? This sham that you call an Empire?" Kialandí took a step forward standing outside of the magic circle that he created.

"Perhaps," admitted Kialandí. He then frowned at Eragon. "Now before I see to it that I do away with you, I want to know how it was that you were able to find our location when there was not a scout about the Beor Mountains."

"And why should I tell you?" asked Eragon his lips in a thin line.

"You will not need to, I have my ways on how to extract information that I want," said Kialandí at ease. "I can always torture you to take it from you. Or perhaps I could cripple you like I did to that worthless elder years earlier."

There was a movement in the air behind Kialandí before his dragon landed on the ground behind the elf, snarling. "You will not extract anything from me," said Eragon with a dark look, baiting Kialandí to try his worst. He had withstood Faust's tortures when he was younger, he could withstand anything that this elf might think of doing. Though he did feel apprehensive about the possible creativeness that Kialandí might extend on his magic.

He smiled as if taking Eragon's words as a challenge before opening his mouth to speak, the ancient language falling upon his lips. He spoke so low that Eragon could barely hear him despite his acute sense of hearing. The only indication that he was casting a spell was the suddenly twist in the space about Eragon compressing him, squeezing his bones. It almost felt as if his insides were being crushed from the inside out traveling slowly from his head to his feet.

Coughing, he blinked when he felt his warm blood trickle down his chin. Kialandí continued to speak, not slowing in incantation. Instantly, he felt Arya's magic swirl within him trying to counter the reverse flow of magic. It appeared as if Kialandí could not sense her magic slipping in underneath his reworking the flow of the fabric of the world that he was creating about Eragon. Like always, her magic was trying it's best to protect him and for that he was grateful.

Kialandí continued to mutter about renting the flow of magic, but then suddenly Arya's magic found the weak point in his and without much effort reversed the flow, correcting it in an instant. There was a bright flash and Eragon was freed while Kialandí was thrown backwards, impaling himself on his dragon's spike. Eragon winced at the sick squelching sound that came from the impact of his chest being pierced through by the pointy spike.

His dragon gave a whimper at the sight of his Rider once more injured. Holding his sword up, he ignored the pain that still gripped at him and made his way towards Kialandí, Brisingr flashing brightly in the bloody hue, the sapphire contrasting with the ruby. As he swung his sword at Kialandí, his dragon reared lifting Kialandí out of harm's way. The only thing Eragon managed to do was cut free the saddle from the purple dragon before it gave flight risking impaling Kialandí even further than leaving him to Eragon's mercy.

He frowned as he watched them escape, having no means to go after them. Instead, he sheathed Brisingr and Vrangr turning his attention back to the saddle that he had cut free. Curious as to what a Forsworn could have packed away, he made his way to the leather saddlebags. After checking for any spells and enchantments that could possibly be guarding the objects that Kialandí was coveting, Eragon pulled the leather apart to search through them.

There were various reports that could be of use to them and several others that were not. But what shocked him the most as he was ripping away the leather was the four gleaming orbs that stared up at him in an ovular shape. They were of varying sizes and colors but their overall distinctive build was similar. He felt his heart pound as he reached a hand down to touch the emerald orb that held a hue that reminded him distinctly of Eridor.

_This can't be…_

But it was. There was no other material in the world that could match the beauty of what others might mistake as glorious jewels. Their glassy surface shined brightly and beautifully at him. And as he stared at the emerald orb, he could not help but feel a great deal of gratitude and affection rush through him for Arya. She had been here for him in spirit to help him win even when she wasn't with him physically. She had helped him obtain them.

Her magic and love had helped him prevail over Kialandí and had delivered to him four Eldunarí.

**Suspenseful music cue! Anyways, I wanted to introduce the Eldunari early and this seemed like the opportune moment and geez Kialandi is such an idiot getting impaled twice on his dragon. In any case, there are still more of the Forsworn to be addressed. In any case, pertaining to Angela's prediction It could be true, it could not be true. It depends if you all think I would give you the plot line that **_**easily. **_**There could be more to it than you would ever guess. Also the vision with Arya could be a hallucination or it could be something more. Who knows anymore? So many **questions...so**, so many questions. Sigh, and so much more to write. In any case, look for those typos please! And hope for more soon! I'll try to update quickly but I've been pressed for time. I have so many projects to do and my backpacking trip to Europe was approved! I got the full grant! Yay! Let's all celebrate! In any case, I hope to see you all soon!**


	22. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

**It is late at night and once again if you read this and catch any typos please PM me or review so that I can go back and correct everything. This chapter is rather long and it would mean much if someone found the mistakes so that I could fix it. (It's a roundabout way of getting about not having a Beta and updating somewhat quickly). To address one question, why did Kialandi have so few Eldunari? Well, if we were to judge Galbatorix's rather paranoid ways, I believe he would regulate just how much his Forsworn can use. It wouldn't be wise if he gave them a great part of his means to power, you know? In any case, this is a filler-ish chapter. So, R&R everyone.**

Pulling his cloak about him tighter, he fought the urge to shiver as he and Arya trekked through the white snow that covered the lush green grass of Du Weldenvarden. It was the beginnings of winter in Alagaësia. While others were preparing themselves for the brisk and chilly days to follow, he had thought it was an opportune moment for him to return to Ellesméra for the first time in nearly two decades. Though Arya had oftentimes traveled to and fro between Farthen Dûr and Ellesméra, he had never opted to join her. His duties had proven too weighty for him to even consider doing so.

However, the matter of the Eldunarí was not to be overlooked. He had tried to contact Agaravel and Avra's dragon, but the two Eldunarí were in such a state of hurt that it was difficult to draw them back out. _At least they are not yet crazed, _thought Eragon. Turning his head slightly, he glanced at the pocket of space directly above and behind his head where the Eldunarí were floating and flowing. He had utilized the spell that Umaroth had once told him well. No one had given any thought to the presence of the Eldunarí except for those of great magical capabilities. Frequently, he had caught Arya's eyes flickering to the space where the Eldunarí were hidden, but it seemed as if she was unaware, herself, of how she kept glancing at that particular area. She was, no doubt, subconsciously attracted to the magic of the Eldunarí.

As they walked in relative silence with each other, he couldn't help but think of another time in which it was merely the two of them walking together underneath the covers of the ancient pines. He wondered what it was that she was thinking. Though she did not say it outright, he had years to perfect his understanding of her. She was tensed and there was a hesitancy to her actions and it only seemed to grow as they neared Ellesméra. He could only arrive at one answer for her slight change in nature.

Though he had not asked her what it was that had transpired between her and her mother seven years ago, he had hoped that it was not a repeat of what had happened to Arya in his world. But it appeared that his hopes were in vain. They had argued and came to a crossroads once more it seemed. _Whether it is in this world or mine own, Islanzadí and Arya will always be at odds, _thought Eragon sadly as he stared at the back of Arya's head, trailing behind her a few paces.

It seemed that her mother would always want what was best for her and that Arya was too independent to merely agree. They were both very stubborn. He felt rather sorry for King Evandar that mother and daughter were at ends. Was that how his mother felt in regards to him and Brom in the beginning? It was a curious thought to contend with.

"We should find shelter to rest for the night," said Eragon eventually as night began to descend about them. He glanced up at the dusky red sky and frowned. It would take no more than an hour at most for night to blanket them.

"There should be one nearby," Arya replied not turning to look at him as she brushed a low branch aside to continue walking. He nodded, momentarily forgetting that she could not see him and followed her. Though he understood how to use a compass and how to find his way about Du Weldenvarden, it appeared as if Arya had a better grasp of the forest. Following her lithe figure about the trees he was careful to keep a respectable distance from her.

It was hard not to want to automatically sweep her up in his arms when she was so close at hand, but he had to repress that urge. The two of them were close friends—at least that was what he thought of himself as to Arya. Having known her for nearly twenty six years, he would think that she considered him a close friend. Yet there seemed to be an unknown boundary between them, as if she could not confide in him all of her troubles. He frowned at the thought of it, and unbidden by him, he thought of how Arya could possibly go and seek out Fäolin to speak her troubles to.

The thought of it made him want to hit something.

Violently pushing the thought from his mind, he inwardly sighed as he followed behind Arya. Grateful for the leather boots that he had received from Weldon, Eragon was careful to pay attention to the ground in which thick roots protruded.

Before night could completely encompass them, Arya had managed to find a cave eastward of Ellesméra for them to rest for the night. Grateful to be out of the harsh winter elements, he followed her into the cave, careful of the slope that went downwards into the earth and away from the brisk night air. After collecting a large pile of dry branches and twigs and lighting a warm campfire, he unrolled his pack on the ground to cushion the hard earth.

"Are you hungry, Arya?" Eragon asked as they sat in silence across from each other. From the way she was sitting with her knees up and her arms wrapped about them instantly told him that she was in deep thought. Something was bothering her. He wanted to ask her what it was but caught himself. Were they considered close enough of friends that she was going to be willing to tell him her troubles?

"Just slightly," Arya murmured unable to lie as he had asked her in the ancient language. The two of them had made the transition from the human tongue to the ancient language as soon as they had crossed the borders into Du Weldenvarden.

Nodding, he instantly reached into his back to pull out a thick leather hide pouch. With practiced movements he had the bag settled over the campfire, boiling with mushroom and onion soup. Sitting back on his heels, he was careful to keep an eye on the boiling soup, not wanting it to burn.

"Eragon," he glanced up at Arya, catching sight of her piercing green eyes that seemed to be bright with emotion.

"Yes?" he asked cautiously not wanting to seem too eager that she was willing to speak with him.

"Do you…do you have any family?" the tentative way in which she had asked made him think that she was nervous about breaching such a personal subject. Though he usually shied away from questions about his past, the fact that Arya was asking it made him pause. In the many years in which he had come to know Arya once more, she had never asked questions that pertained personally to him. Yes, she did ask about his past adventures and his life as a Rider but never about his family or anything of the like. And if he hoped for her to confide in him her troubles, it was clear that he should let her listen to his own as well.

"I used to," said Eragon softly as he stirred the soup. At her questioning stare, he elaborated. "They were taken from me after the war."

She nodded in understanding and he thought he saw a touch of contrition on her features. He smiled at her, reassuringly. "It was long ago, Arya. I have come to accept it," said Eragon.

She was quiet for a long moment before she spoke once more, this time more confident than the last.

"Were you close to your family?" asked Arya curiously.

"Not at first," said Eragon smiling ruefully. "I was close to my mother but not my father, my brother, or my cousin and his family. I grew up with my mother and not my father or brother until I was sixteen. For years, I bore a deep hatred and resentment for my father and brother. Looking back on it, I feel like it was somewhat childish."

"Why did you hate them for so long?" asked Arya, her brows furrowed as if she couldn't imagine him carrying such an intense hatred for anyone.

"It was from a mistake that my father made," said Eragon as he continued to stir the mushroom and onion soup. "I was young and I had thought that he had abandoned me and my mother for his own purposes. But it wasn't so. When I met him years later, I had wanted to hate him for the mistake he made on his part. I wanted to resent him and I would have, if it weren't for…"

He stopped as he thought of Arya. She had been the one to help him see that errs of his ways. Feeling his lips curl downwards slightly, he tried to think of a way to explain to Arya how important her words were to him, how she had made him try to be better. "A close friend of mine helped me see how bitterness was a choice. I—," he stopped momentarily at a loss for words. After a moment of thinking, he began again. "It helped me see how short life was and how I could cling to my hatred or merely move on and try to be better—to understand my father. It took much work and thinking but in the end, I was able to accept it and move on."

Arya nodded, glancing at the fire and he could see an internal struggle in her eyes as she thought of what else to ask him. "Your friend…was it the same person whom made your Vrangr?" asked Arya softly, understanding lacing her voice. Eragon blinked as he tried to think of how to answer her. He had kept his feelings and memories of Arya locked away deep within his heart because he knew that no one could understand his feelings for her. She had given him everything so that he could learn to love and live. She had been an important constant in his life in the short time he'd known her and yet, it felt like more.

"Yes," the truth left him in an almost strangled whisper. "She was."

Taking in a deep breath, he shook his head trying to clear his suddenly turbulent emotions. He had never suspected that actually speaking of Arya would cause him so much pain, but it did. There was a difference, Eragon thought sadly, between mourning silently and mourning verbally. Speaking it aloud only made the situation of his reality more real than it had been for the past near four decades.

Arya fell quiet almost as if she could feel his pain when speaking of _her. _But it wasn't, not in a sense thought Eragon. And yet, in his heart he could feel an intense longing for Arya, the one before him and the one that was his. Whether it was in this world on the other, his feelings would always be for her. Even if she didn't realize it.

"The two of us were close friends," said Eragon unable to keep quiet about the emotions that he had long stored deep within his heart. _We were mates—soul bonds. _"I did not have many friends when I was younger, not really. And it was out of trying circumstances that we met…but she still trusted me. We trained and fought together as Dragon Riders. She was the only person who understood me and who I was and where I came from. We were both alike and yet so very different. During a battle, one of my original swords snapped from the pressure of magic and because she wanted to protect me, she forged the blade of Vrangr so that it could be brother to Brisingr…It was one of the greatest gifts I have received in my life apart from my dragon."

"What happened to her?"

"The two of us fought together against Galbatorix…" he sighed, stopping short of what he was about to say. Arya was not dead, she was still alive in this world and in the other if Angela's theory was correct. But it appeared as if the Arya before him took his silence as something else entirely and he did not correct her.

"She must have meant much to you," murmured Arya softly.

"She still does," murmured Eragon. At her confused expression, he merely smiled softly. "I only hope that you never have to experience this pain for yourself Arya but I have come to understand that love conquers death. It lives on after death…and even if I did not believe in it when I was younger, I have come to believe in eternity."

"Eternity?" Her deep emerald eyes pierced his and he found in them an emotion he was unable to discern.

"That love will live on through death and time so that one day, we will be reunited with our loved ones," said Eragon as he reached into his bags to pull out two wooden bowls and spoons. He poured her a bowl full of soup and handed it to her along with a spoon before pouring himself some.

She was quiet as she ate, her eyes flickering from him to the fire and to the entrance of the cave. He had thought she would have dropped the subject and leave it at rest, but her next question surprised him. "Do you dislike it…that you are alive and that they are…?" She paused as if struggling for words before shaking her head. "I apologize Eragon, it is just that…I have heard how difficult it is to lose a loved one, especially your bonded dragon. Some of the past Riders have gone mad with grief and taken their own lives because they could not endure the pain of living without their bonded partners…" She trailed off once more as if hesitant to continue, unsure of whether or not her question would cause him any affront.

"I suppose that is true," said Eragon with a nod showing her that her question had caused him no discomfort or pain. "Some do go mad with grief over the loss of their dragons…ending one's own life to be with them is not cowardice or pathetic but understandable."

"And yet, here you are," murmured Arya.

"And yet, here I am," agreed Eragon with a nod. He swallowed a spoonful of his soup, contemplating for a moment what to say. "Brom and I…we share a common goal that helps us to forget the pain of our loss and focus our energies on our obligations. Having a task or goal to focus on helps, if slightly. But even if I did not have the Varden to devote my time to…I would not give into my sorrow. I would continue living…because if I didn't, no one would remember my dragon, my family, or my friends." _Only I would because they never existed in this time, _thought Eragon fighting a frown.

"It seems that there is always something to be learned from you, Eragon," said Arya with a faint smile.

He chuckled slightly. "I never considered myself a teacher of any sort but I am glad if you have gleaned anything that could be of use to you."

She nodded. It appeared as if her questioning was done for she merely turned to her soup, letting the silence reign. He had hoped that he had become less of a mystery to her and more of a friend that she could trust. After all, he had confided in her his past. Perhaps, it would help her to relax more in his presence and learn to depend on him. _I want you to be able to ask me for help, Arya. _Pouring himself a second bowl of soup, he continued to eat.

Once they were done eating, he had washed and packed away his things and was ready to turn in for the night before Arya spoke once more, so softly that he barely heard her words. "Eragon…would you consider us close friends?" For one long and strange moment, he thought she sounded somewhat timid which was a great contrast to her usually imperious and strong willed nature.

"There is no doubt in my mind that we are," said Eragon without hesitation. He thought he saw a slight hint of a smile on her face as she settled down on her blankets but with the shadows that the fire casted on her features, he couldn't be certain. Instead, he stretched out on his own blankets and with one last glance at Arya allowed himself to drift off into his waking dreams.

"_Did you ever believe in me?" asked Eragon curiously as he turned to stare at Arya, as they sat side by side with their bare feet in the running water of the Jiet River. Not far off, Saphira and Eridor were playfully chasing each under in the river, careful not to splash their Riders. Arya made a soft sound of exasperation, turning her head to stare up at him._

"_What kind of question is that?" asked Arya amused by his sudden need to know her thoughts._

"_A curious one," said Eragon. He narrowed his eyes at her. "Unless, you did not believe in me at first."_

_She looked like she wanted to roll her eyes but merely settled for shaking her head instead. "I always believed in you," she smiled, "I still believe in you," she stopped at his pleased smile and instead squeezed his hand lightly through their interlaced fingers. "Whatever brought you to ask such a question?"_

"_I was just curious," said Eragon. He paused before another question appeared on his forefront. "What did you first think of me when you saw me? As Gabranth, I mean."_

_She was silent for a long moment. "When I first saw you…I had thought that perhaps, you would have been the new monster to continue my tortures. After Durza had failed to extract any information from me, I was afraid that perhaps Galbatorix had decided that I be subjected to worst," he frowned at the thought of Arya thinking that he would even dare to harm her in such a way. At his expression, she smiled and squeezed his hand once more. "I was wrong, however. When you took me to your room and healed me, I was confused. I did not know what it was that you wanted from me and yet during my stay in Gil'ead, short though it was, you had shown me more kindness than most people. You healed me, encouraged me to escape, and you allowed me to take Murtagh and the last egg to the Varden, knowing that you could have been punished by Galbatorix had he found out. A great part of me was grateful for what you did but there was always a small part that worried for you."_

"_Galbatorix would not have hurt me to such a great extent," said Eragon without a doubt._

"_There are worst punishments than death, Eragon," murmured Arya gently as she reached up with her free hand to caress the side of his face. "In any case, I am glad that you have followed your mother to the Varden, for if you had not I would no doubt have been unable to experience such happiness as to have you as a mate."_

"_I am glad as well," Eragon replied as he watched her emerald eyes sparkle with warmth and tender affections. "What do you think of me now?"_

_Her smile widened slightly as she pulled his face closer to hers, softly brushing her lips over his own, her breath caressing his face. "My white rose…"_

"You will not come to visit Evandar Könungr?" asked Eragon curiously as the two of them stopped before the entrance to Tialdarí Hall. He saw Arya's reluctance and wanted her to fight it. She had nothing to be ashamed of in stepping foot into her own ancestral home. If her mother wished not to see her, then Islanzadí could keep to herself but it was Arya's right as the daughter of Evandar to see her own father when she wished to.

"I do not want to give him any trouble," murmured Arya. "Besides it is late—"

"It is barely evening," said Eragon waving away her troubles. When she made no indication to move or follow him, he stepped forward and reached out to her placing a hand on her shoulder. Instantly, she glanced up at him, her eyes curious and her red lips slightly curled downwards at the corners, showing her true feelings. "Arya, I do not know what it is that happened between you and your mother and father but there is no need to feel ashamed in wanting to see Evandar Könungr. He may be the king with his own obligations but I believe a father shall always see his daughter as his highest and most important priority in life."

"It is not that I am ashamed—" She stopped when the doors to Tialdarí Hall swung open to reveal a fair male elf whom Eragon instantly recognized. He remembered the light sapphire eyes and dark hair and felt his heart constrict in his chest at the sight of the elf. Even if Arya had never introduced him to the male elf before them, Eragon already knew who it was that the elf was—Fäolin . He blinked and his hand unintentionally squeezed Arya's shoulder tighter. This was the elf whom Arya held great feelings of comradeship with and perhaps even more than comradeship. He was her Black Morning Glory.

He watched as Fäolin 's eyes widened slightly at their appearance before a charming smile graced his lips as his eyes landed on Arya and it was clear to Eragon that Fäolin viewed Arya in a different light than that of merely a good friend.

"Arya," he said, her voice smooth as he gracefully came to a stop before them the doors to Tialdarí Hall swinging close behind him. Eragon immediately stiffened watching as Fäolin raised his right hand to touch his two fingers to his lips to greet Arya first. What irritated Eragon about the elf was how he had neglected to use any formal titles when addressing Arya. It was evident of how close the two were it seemed. His frown deepened even more.

"Fäolin ," the way Arya smiled at him made Eragon's throat tightened and he fought to tame the jealousy that was beginning to rise up within him. Though he had no right to of who Arya spoke to, he did not like what he saw between her and Fäolin .

"It is good to see you have returned to Ellesméra," he bestowed a warm smile on Arya to which her own smile grew and if Eragon's eyes were deceiving him, he thought she looked rather _pleased _at Fäolin 's warm welcome. When the elf's azure eyes came to rest on Eragon, he fought to keep his expression calm and collected. Catching sight of the ring on Eragon's left hand, Fäolin 's eyes widened just slightly as he greeted Eragon first much to his satisfaction.

"You must be Eragon," said Fäolin politely, his eyes darting to Eragon's right hand which was still resting on Arya's shoulder. He wanted to smirk at the elf but refrained from doing so.

"And you are?" Eragon inclined his head to the elf in a polite voice as well.

"Fäolin ," Arya supplied much to Eragon's great annoyance. He blinked when she stepped away from him, causing him to retract his hand, and moved towards Fäolin , her smile never fading. Even though she did not know what it was that she was doing to him, he still felt wounded. He blinked when she and Fäolin shared a short embrace as they greeted one another once more before she turned to him. "He is a friend of mine."

"I see," murmured Eragon trying to keep the bitterness from his voice. _Friend? _He inwardly scoffed. For some reason, he did not believe that they were merely friends. Eyes darting from between Arya and Fäolin , he could not help but wonder where the two of them would be decades from now. _Who would you choose, Arya? What you know and understand or what you do not and wish to?_

"I have heard word of what you are doing for the Varden," said Fäolin his politeness never fading. "Your deeds are great and widely spread in Ellesméra."

"I would not call them great," said Eragon denying any sort of praise with a slight frown. He wished that Arya would come to stand with him once more and not by Fäolin 's side. "And what is it that you do, Fäolin ?"

As he expected the look on Fäolin 's face faltered giving way to hesitation. He had assumed correctly. Fäolin was still thinking of what it was that he wanted to do. He was still deciding on whether or not he should give up his home in Ellesméra to join Arya and her endeavors as the Elven ambassador. When he wanted to laugh at the hesitation on Fäolin 's face, he felt as if he was struck when Arya laid a gentle hand on the side of Fäolin 's arm as if to comfort him and tell him that he did not have to decide yet.

Fighting the urge to separate them, his eyes flickered back to Fäolin as he spoke with a smile upon his face once more. "I have yet to decide on a hobby or a purpose to devote myself to," he answered honestly.

Eragon nodded. _Hopefully he would remain undecided for several more decades, _thought Eragon praying to whatever higher divinity there was to hear his wish. He could not stand to see Arya with another person especially since a part of her soul was intertwined with his. Though he could feel her tender affections caressing his soul, he could not take to seeing her attention devoted elsewhere.

Just as they were about to speak once more, the doors swung outwards and Eragon blinked when he saw King Evandar without his high lords and ladies following him. At the sight of the three of them, the king paused in his footsteps. His gray eyes fell on Arya and instantly he smiled softly as he walked over to his daughter, sweeping her up in his arms without so much as a word.

"Father," Eragon heard Arya softly say as she returned his embrace, "I have returned."

"Even if your visit is but for a short span of time, I am still overjoyed to see you well," King Evandar returned as he pulled away to brush Arya's long hair from her face, softly kissing her temple. As he watched, Eragon could not help but smile. Even if he had changed a key component in the Arya he knew, he would not trade it for anything when he saw the look on Arya's face at her father's love.

"As I am you," Arya returned as she pulled away from her father.

King Evandar spared her one last look before he turned to Eragon. He smiled in welcome as Eragon greeted him first to show his respect. "Your Majesty," Eragon murmured once he had completed the traditional greeting.

"It has been six and twenty years since you have last stepped foot in Ellesméra, my friend," said Evandar when Eragon straightened. "I will not be lying when I say that I am surprised to see that you have returned after having departed so long ago."

"I apologize for delaying my return to Ellesméra," said Eragon glad to focus his attention on something else rather than Arya and Fäolin . "There was much to be done with the Varden and little to no resources to be spared."

"I have heard of your services to the Varden and not only that but Arya had returned with Aegnor's sword as proof that you have done a great service to Alagaësia by ridding the land of one more corrupt Rider," said Evandar, his gray eyes praising.

"You are too kind," murmured Eragon. He darted his eyes to Arya and Fäolin . "However, I did not return to Ellesméra merely for pleasantries, Evandar Könungr…There is an urgent matter I would like to discuss with you."

At his words, Evandar's brows furrowed. He stared at Eragon for a moment before nodding. "Very well," he motioned for Eragon to follow him. Then turning to Arya, he spoke in a softer tone, "Arya, my daughter, once I am finished I would like to see you. There is much I would like to ask you."

"Of course, father," said Arya, her emerald eyes curious. He made to follow Evandar, pausing long enough to take in the sight of Fäolin and Arya standing side by side. It went against reason but in his mind, he could not help but think of them as a fair fit. Arya's elegance and beauty seemed to match Fäolin 's grace and fair features with ease. He despised the thought of them together but could do little else to prevent it.

Turning away from the sight of them together, he continued on his way behind Evandar. Weaving about Tialdarí Hall, past the flowerbeds and the many different shaped rooms and common areas, they eventually arrived to the king's private study. The vines covering the entrance gave way when Evandar spoke in the ancient language, demanding entrance into the large vine walled study.

Stepping inside the study with Evandar, Eragon took a moment to take in the large circular room. There was a beautiful, ornate pinewood desk in the center of the room in which a majestic, cushioned armchair rested behind. On one wall were two fairths, one of Arya and another of Islanzadí. Seeing them side by side, Eragon was struck momentarily by how similar mother and daughter appeared. Tearing his eyes away from the marble slates, he took in the books shelves that covered two of the walls from ground to ceiling, filled with scrolls, voluminous texts, and reports.

Eyes moving away from the bookshelves, he blinked when he caught sight of a glass orb on Evandar's desk in which he saw a deep blue lily resided and then with a blink it was gone to be replaced by a blossoming marigold.

"This was a gift from Islanzadí," said Evandar at Eragon's curious stare. "A century ago, during a spring festival, she presented this to me so that I may see the blooms of the flowers even if I did not leave my study. It was a gift to give color to my days and my duties."

"It is beautiful," said Eragon quietly as he watched Evandar nod, moving about his desk to take a seat in his armchair. He was quiet for a long moment before he whispered in the ancient language and Eragon blinked as the roots from the ground rose up to form an armchair for him to sit in.

"Judging from your willingness to leave the Varden to return to Ellesméra, I believe what you have to say is no light matter," observed Evandar, growing serious.

Eragon nodded, "That it is not, but before we begin, I believe we should ask for Oromis-elda's presence. This matter also concerns him."

Evandar regarded Eragon for a long moment, his brows furrowed before he nodded. He remained quiet for several minutes, his eyes flickering about his study often. Then when Eragon thought he would not speak, he did, "Oromis will join us soon," said Evandar reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"It is for the best that he should," said Eragon.

"Of course," leaning forward on his desk, the king studied Eragon for a moment. "Eragon, I wish for you to be honest with me on this matter," Eragon nodded waiting for the king to continue, "How is Arya truly faring with the Varden? In the seven years that she has departed from Ellesméra, she had only retuned a handful of times before she leaves on duty once more. Though she tells me much of her journey whilst she has the chance, I believe she does not tell me all there is to her life outside of Du Weldenvarden."

"I do not know," Eragon began, "what it is that Arya may or may not have told you, Your Majesty…however, I can tell you honestly that she is working well and hard. Her determination and dedication to our cause is steadfast and even in the face of sorrow or pain, she does not falter."

A touch of pride entered the king's eyes. "She is my daughter."

"That she is," agreed Eragon. He hesitated and then steeling himself, spoke once more, "If I may, Evandar Könungr…it appears as if Arya is rather tense about returning to Ellesméra, particularly about entering Tialdarí Hall…I know it is not my place to ask you of such matters, but, as she has been a good friend of mine for a number of years, I am concerned about her…Has something happened?"

At his question, the king sighed looking more aged than Eragon had ever thought of him. "I would not tell this to anyone who was not a close friend of mine house but you have been a friend of mine house for several decades now. Arya and Islanzadí are at a crossroads. They are too stubborn to concede with one another that they are alienating each other."

"I see," so they were repeating their past arguments once more. Even if Evandar was alive, it appeared as if that did little to influence Islanzadí and her insistence that Arya did not join in the fighting. "I had thought as much but dared not say so."

"Elves are stubborn creatures," said Evandar without a hint of humor in his voice. "And can hold hurts and faults for decades to come if we wish to do so."

"It will come to an end in due time," Eragon reassured him. _All things tend to end._

"I can only hope so," the king's eyes darted to the two fairths that hung on the wall to their left. "It pains me to see my family at odds with each other."

He was once more reminded of his mother but before he could say anything else, there was a knock on the door. Admitting the person entrance, Eragon blinked at the sight of Oromis. His master looked much older than last he'd seen him at the winter festival years ago. It appeared as if the pain from his crippled state was eating away at him. Standing, Eragon greeted the aged elf as the door to the study closed up once more, protecting them from any unwanted presence.

"Now, may I ask what matter of importance that you have called for me, Evandar Könungr?" asked Oromis as he took a seat in another armchair that the king had called into shape with the ancient language. The study it seemed was attuned to the elf king's wishes and seemed to adjust itself to his needs, observed Eragon impressed.

"I would also like to know that as well," Evandar turned his eyes on Eragon as did Oromis.

Not relenting underneath their stares, he felt his determination harden as he felt the turbulent emotions of the Eldunarí in the pocket of space behind him. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Oromis's eyes flicker in their direction. "Before I speak, I need your word that what I show and tell you will remain a secret from everyone apart from the three of us," said Eragon with a determined look.

"I cannot lie to Glaedr, Eragon," said Oromis softly, his tone contrasting with his own hard expression.

"Nor would I ask you to, it is best if Glaedr knows as well," said Eragon, his eyes turning to Evandar. "However, I need your word for this is a serious matter and I do not want to speak about it without any certainty that this information will not fall into the wrong hands."

They were quiet for a moment before Oromis spoke, "I speak for myself and Glaedr when I say we give you our word that what is said today shall remain knowledge to those present unless you give us the right to speak of it to others."

"Thank you, Oromis-elda," murmured Eragon turning his eyes on the king.

Evandar was quiet for a long moment before he spoke, "I do not like this Eragon but I trust you and your judgment. I give you my word."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," said Eragon. "I know this seemed rather abrupt of me, but I needed reassurance that this be kept a secret for it can change the tide of war." Seeing their curious expressions, he turned in his seat to the pocket in space behind him and began to murmur the incantation underneath his breath. There was a flash of light as the space about the pocket righted itself and four silk pouches were gently lowered onto the ground. With gentle hands, he reached to take them in hand before setting them on the table.

Then with great care, he slid the Eldunarí from their pouches to reveal the four glassy orbs to Oromis's and Evandar's eyes. "This cannot be," breathed Oromis as he stared down at the Eldunarí, having stood in his shock.

"This is…this is the Eldunarí that you spoke of?" asked Evandar in wonder as he reached forward to touch the violet shell of one of the Eldunarí. "The Heart of Hearts of dragons?"

"It is," said Eragon watching as Oromis seem to awaken from his trance to turn his eyes to Eragon.

"How did you manage to obtain them?" the Rider asked, his earlier surprise and amazement gone to be replaced by a look of seriousness. Gesturing for Oromis to resume his seat, Eragon explained to the two about his duel with Kialandí and how he had managed to impale the elf on the spike of his dragon. Then when they made to flee, Eragon had by accident cut the saddle bags free from Kialandí's dragon and when he went to search through the saddlebags, he had come across the Eldunarí.

"And you knew they were Eldunarí?" questioned Oromis.

Eragon nodded. "In my training as a Rider, I was made aware of the Eldunarí. I never gave it much thought until I came across them on Kialandí."

"What does this mean, Oromis?" asked Evandar turning his eyes on the stunned elf. "Why would Kialandí have four of the Eldunarí with him?"

"It can only mean that our assumption was correct," said Oromis in a quiet voice, "Galbatorix and his Forsworn are using the energy of the Eldunarí to control the Empire. It was with their strength that they were able to amass such power to defeat the Riders."

The king's brows instantly slanted and Eragon was momentarily surprised by how furious Evandar appeared at that very moment. He glanced about, half expecting for the study to burst into flames at the intensity of Evandar's expression.

"He is committing the foulest act against the dragons possible," said Evandar darkly.

"Aye," agreed Oromis turning his eyes back to the Eldunarí before turning in his seat to pin Eragon with a sad and yet gratified expression. "You have done the dragons a great service by freeing a few who were in captivity by the Forsworn, Eragon."

"I would never leave them to be abused by the Forsworn," said Eragon frowning. "I have tried to speak with the four of them but their mentalities are wounded to the point that they perceive life outside of their shell as predators waiting to strike at them. It will take time for them to recover."

"And that is why you brought them here," said Evandar as he took the emerald Eldunarí in hand, cradling it like he would a new born babe.

"I could think of no other safe location to have them and with Oromis-elda and Glaedr-elda to help, perhaps they can regain their lost sanity," said Eragon.

"Yes, it is the least we can do as the remnants of a lost order," murmured Oromis nodding his head. "We must help them. Whether it takes us days, months, or years, we shall help them return to what they once were."

"Their existence must be kept secret," said Evandar, turning his gaze to Eragon. "I trust that you will not speak of the Eldunarí freely Eragon. You are a Rider and understand the weight of the secret of the dragons, one that they do not divulge to merely anyone. It takes decades for dragons to trust those with their secrets for they are opening themselves up to potential harm."

"I understand Your Majesty," Eragon murmured. "I shall not speak of the Eldunarí unless you give me permission to do so."

Evandar nodded, pleased with his oath before he turned back to the emerald Eldunarí in his hands once more, his expression borderline sorrow and anger. "To think that Galbatorix would be vile enough to continue his tortures on the dragons whose physical bodies he had done away with."

"Galbatorix has always been capable of committing acts against nature," said Eragon, his eyes narrowing as he thought of the black king. "This should be no different."

"And yet it is," Oromis's expression was one of profound sadness as he stared at the orbs on the desk, each pulsing with its own light. "You have saved but a few Eragon. There are countless others still being tormented and yet only four were rescued. It may seem like a victory when it is but a big loss to us."

"They will not be the last of the Eldunarí that will be rescued," said Eragon determinedly. "You can rest assured, Oromis-elda."

_I will see to it that Galbatorix and the Forsworn understand the consequences of using the Eldunarí in such a_ way.

**I have been mighty sick these last few days (so please spare me if there are a bunch of errors-don't forget to PM me. The person who did last time was a great help and you know who you are, so thank you! And if you can do it again, even better! I know it's a lot to ask of someone when they're not my Beta but I get all antsy when I have a chapter up that's imperfect). In any case, I was doing a lab and some student (I don't even know how they got into graduate research with me but they did) ended up creating a room filled with horrible fumes that I had to breathe in for three hours. Since my senses are rather sensitive, I ended up getting sick for some time. I was bedridden and couldn't even get up to do my graduate research and all that. It was horrible. I actually felt better today so I decided to upload this chapter. In any case, if I don't update quick I'm sorry but I have to take care of my life as well. Graduate research opportunities don't come every day and I'm studying towards my masters and I'm also bouncing around for jobs and then there's my backpacking trip (England first, France, and then Germany!). Life is getting hectic but it's fun. In any case, I shall work harder now that my sickness has passed. I hope to see you all soon! (And don't forget to PM any errors so that I may fix them!)**


	23. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

**Another rather late update. As I asked before, please if you catch any errors PM me so that I may fix them. Hopefully, I should be able to fix all the errors by tomorrow morning. In any case, I wanted to update this chapter now. If you are confused by the small time jump, review or PM and I shall do my best to explain it to you. Besides that, R&R.**

Glancing up at the sky, Eragon sighed. It was dark and turbulent and on the horizon, he could see great mushrooms of dark clouds approaching. A storm was heading their way. _Of all times, _thought Eragon as he urged his stallion forward. He glanced back at his men, all of whom were on horseback with their cloaks wrapped about them to protect them from the cold. They were worn from the traveling and the scouting that they had to do earlier that day and he knew that asking them to brave a thunderstorm would be asking for too much.

But if they didn't find shelter before the storm hit, their situation would only become worse.

"Easy," murmured Eragon as he comfortingly rubbed his stallion's neck as a loud peal of thunder rumbled through the air, malevolent and ominous. Guiding his steed alongside the Beartooth River towards the Beor Mountains, he frowned trying to think of how long they had before the storm hit.

If there was one thing he'd learned in his years traveling to and fro from Farthen Dûr, it was the fact that one could never win against nature. _At least it is not a blizzard, _thought Eragon. Had it been winter and a blizzard at their forefront, they would have been faced with perilous dangers. Crossing through a thunderstorm would be difficult but possible. However, crossing through a blizzard would be an impossibility.

"Sir!" he turned his head to the man on his right. Several years earlier, he had met Marlow when he was still young and overly eager and ambitious to fight back against Galbatorix and his Forsworn, now he was near his fourth decade, his youth replaced with telltale signs of aging.

"What is it Marlow?" Eragon answered loudly so that he could be heard over the stampede of hooves against the ground as they traveled together.

"We need to stop," Marlow shouted back, leaning over his horse both hands tightly gripping his reins. "Our men say they have spotted movement to our right. I do not believe we should keep our backs turned to potential enemies, sir."

_Movement to the right? _Turning his head, he blinked when the first drop of rain fell against his skin nearly hitting him in the eye. Momentarily distracted, he glanced upwards, surprised that the storm had reached them much faster than he had anticipated. Glancing back in the general vicinity that Marlow had pointed to, he frowned. There were two options opened to him. He could either continue moving through the storm or turn and veer his men off course to investigate the suspicious movement. _Could it be another Forsworn?_

There was a bright flash of lightning in the sky followed by a peal of thunder. The wind, which had but been a breeze had suddenly turned into a whirlwind of air, causing their steeds to falter and whinny while their cloaks flapped about them, whipping at their skin. His decision made, he turned back to his men, all of whom were calming down their surprised horses. "Keep moving! Do not falter!"

Nudging his stallion in his side, he took the lead once more. There was no time to rest and look at whatever it was that was to their right. If they did, they could end up caught in a thunderstorm with no shelter. Even if his men were soldiers that had been trained rigorously since they'd decided to join the Varden, they could not risk getting ill. Ignoring the rain pelting against his body and the wind that seemed to slice at him, he leaned low in his saddle to try and avoid the torrent of air.

_Of all the times, _Eragon thought to himself darkly as another backlash of air caused their company to falter for a moment before the horses paved forward, braving the turbulent storm in hopes of finding an alcove or shelter to wait until the horrid weather passed. He turned back to see his men all white faced and fighting shivers as they clutched the reins of their steeds as if fighting for dear life.

It was early spring and to add to the brisk and chilled air, the rain pouring down on them combined with the screeching wind was enough to make any warm blooded animal freeze. "Keep moving!" Eragon called to them unwilling to surrender to the tempest. Mentally urging his steed to go faster, he grimaced when he heard a shrill noise from above. It was no doubt the sound of the wind ripping through the gaps in the mountains or the sides of the valleys that was making such a hair raising noise.

His cloak clinging to his body and his hair matted to his forehead, Eragon blinked as he was momentarily blinded by a flash of white light. It lasted for only a moment before it was gone but the effect it had was instantaneous. The lightning had struck so close that their horses were momentarily thrown into a panic. Easing his steed with his mind he turned in his saddle slightly to take in his men trying to calm their stallions.

"Hurry! Move everyone!" Eragon ordered, shouting to be heard over the noise of the thunderstorm. Turning about, he continued to urge them forward. The only thing that he could follow in such a turbulent storm was the Beartooth River, which was rushing past angrily, fed by the growing winds of the thunderstorm.

There was another crash of rolling thunder but he ignored it. Teeth clenched and body chilled, he urged his stallions forward. The horses were getting tired, he could see it and if they gave out now, they would be stranded in the middle of a thunderstorm. Blinking at the downpour of rain before his eyes, he let out a breath unnerved by the wasp of air that left his lips. It was too cold. The men would be unable to handle the freezing weather. If they did not find shelter soon, his warriors would no doubt fall prey to fevers.

Their company of eighty continued forward despite the harsh conditions. There was another bright flash of light, a clap of thunder, and then an unearthly shrill screech that made his senses alert. That screech did not sound like the wind howling through the valleys or between the mountains. There was an unearthly and dangerous quality to it that made his hair stand on end. _What was that noise?_

"Sir, it's coming from the right!" Marlow was now shouting to be heard. His right hand in command was drenched to the bone. His hair was flat against his hair and his skin was a pale white. He was no doubt representative of how the others appeared.

Breathing in deeply, he turned his head to his right but could not see well enough past the veil of falling rain to discern any sort of danger. It was also not helping that night would be falling soon and the temperature continued to drop, threatening to freeze them all in place. He was about to ignore the sound before it sounded once more this time closer.

Scowling, he turned to Marlow and raised his voice. "Marlow, take the men towards the right and away from the Beartooth River! Move towards the mountain and see if you cannot find shelter! I shall rejoin you once I have taken care of whatever it is that is following us! Go!"

Just as he spoke, there was a frightful shout behind them followed by the sound of numerous simultaneous clicks and a wet squelch. He turned in his saddle to see a spray of red coat the air, turning a portion of the falling rain into a downpour of red.

He turned back to Marlow, unsheathing Brisingr as he did so. "Go Marlow!"

There was another scream and another squelch. _Another man down, _thought Eragon as he watched Marlow shout to the remaining men in their company to follow him. Whatever it was that was chasing them, it was not out after the others. If anything it would be after him. The certainty that he felt was too great to be ignored. He knew that it was after him. Keeping Brisingr at the ready, he turned in time to see a dark figure swoop overhead, followed by another.

Even in the pouring rain and the water that kept falling into his eyes, he could make out the distinct features. Eyes black, bulging, rimless. A beak seven feet long. Batlike wings. The torso naked, hairless, rippling with muscle and claws like iron spikes.

He thought he saw figures on their backs but was unsure as they flew higher, disappearing into the waterfall of rain and dark gray clouds. The Lethrblaka and the Ra'zac had come for him it seemed. Galbatorix's lackeys were finally here to retrieve what he had lost a year ago. _You are too late, _thought Eragon as he glanced up at the air trying to judge where the two Lethrblaka were. _I have given the Eldunarí to Oromis a year ago._

The Ra'zac may have found him at the Beor Mountains but they would never be able to break through the enchantment that surrounded Du Weldenvarden where the Eldunarí were safe. There was a whistle in the air and he ducked as a dagger, cloaked in black liquid missed him instead hitting the ground. It was impressive how the Ra'zac could still make sense of their surroundings in the heavy rain, he had to admit.

There was another screeching cry and he fought the urge to shudder. The Lethrblaka had the ability to immobilize their prey with their cry, the shrill screech enough to incite fear into any lesser animal. His stallion was no different. Legs faltering, his stallion began to stumble and before Eragon could try and help ease animal's rampant fear, he saw a figure come towards him from his right. With an almighty slam to his side, he grunted feeling his breath leave him as the Lethrblaka tumbled into him, knocking him from his steed.

Hitting the wet ground, his impact softened by the mud, he blinked momentarily dazed. Then his senses returned to him with a vengeance. Hurriedly rolling to the side as he heard another loud screech, he frowned thoroughly irritated. He was cold, drenched in rain and mud, and now without his men and steed. Like Galbatorix had taught them, he could not sense their minds or their presence. They had successfully shielded themselves from him. _If there is one monster that I can kill, it will be the Ra'zac and their parents._

Shuffling, his feet he ignored the fact that his boots seemed to sink into the ground before he turned, his ears picking up on a change in sound to his left. Dodging another attack by the Lethrblaka, he brought up Brisingr and with a clean swipe, sliced off the last three feet of its tail. Grimacing in disgust as the blue-green blood of the creature coated the left side of his body, he continued. _Even their blood speaks of their strange nature, _thought Eragon as he smiled in grim satisfaction at the cries of rage.

Dodging to the side as the other Lethrblaka made towards him, he turned catching sight of the dark figure on the creature. The Ra'zac were indeed with their parents. Just as he was thinking of them, a flash of rage coursed through him as he remembered the time in which he and Arya had hung defenseless underneath the citadel in Dras-Leona, waiting to see if there was a means of escape. In his mind he could see Arya tearing her own hand into pieces as she struggled to free them before the Ra'zac could hatch and feed on their bodies whilst they were still alive.

They were not going to get the best of him now. He knew, however, that even if he did do away with the two Ra'zac and Lethrblaka, more would only serve to replace them. The followers of Tosk and his cult were harboring the Ra'zac and their eggs, worshipping them. If he killed them today, more would only come after him. But at least it would be enough to aggravate Galbatorix. If there was one thing that the king detested, it was losing loyal followers…_the Forsworn, Durza, the Ra'zac, Faust, and…me…_

That was the source of Galbatorix's power even if he himself did not realize it. Without followers to do as he commanded, his Empire would not be so fearful to his rule. They manipulated, terrorized, and commanded reverence and respect for Galbatorix while all the king had to do was sit upon his throne and watch.

He turned to avoid the Lethrblaka flying into his once more only to feel a heavy blow to his wards from behind him, sending him toppling forward. Pushing his hands out before him, he easily flipped about, turning in the air to avoid a swipe to his side. Once he was on his feet once more, he drew his magic trying to immobilize one of the Lethrblaka into place. But as their wards had willed it, his magic was all but useless against them.

Dodging another blow, his brows furrowed. He would get nowhere merely dodging attacks. Rather than pulling out Vrangr, he merely tightened his grip on Brisingr, keeping one hand free so that he could use it to right himself when he needed to. Then with great speed, he darted forward moving in a zigzag pattern in order to confuse the Ra'zac. An arrow whizzed by him and he noted the oil that coated the head. _Seithr oil, _Eragon thought with a frown. Sliding his feet against each other, he arched his sword upward as the Lethrblaka flew towards him, one from each direction. The blade of Brisingr sliced through the torso of one of the Lethrblaka and the leathery batlike wings of the other.

Focusing more on the one in which he had sliced through the torso, he jabbed his blade upwards before the beast could hope to pull up, laying open one of its ribs. He heard simultaneous clicks from behind him and ignoring the danger, continued to push Brisingr upwards even if he felt a sharp slice to his shoulder from the long beak of the other Lethrblaka. Feeling warm liquid cascade down his back, burning a path down his chilled skin, he continued. With a great push, he twisted Brisingr and shove the tip of his blade under the jaw of the Lethrblaka before pulling it free.

There was the sound of a wet squelch followed by a spray of more blue-green blood as the body of the Lethrblaka fell to the ground.

On it, he could see the Ra'zac, cloaked in a heavy dark robe. The only feature distinguishable that he could see was its long beak. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he darted forward to the defenseless Ra'zac, hoping to take advantage of its sudden impact to the ground to his advantage. There was a whistling behind him and he dodged a dagger to the head. Keeping Brisingr out before him, he brought his sword arm down aiming to cleave the Ra'zac in two but the creature had managed to untangle itself from its dead parent and hiss at him, cursing his name as it did so.

Unable to keep itself up much longer due to the injury that Eragon had dealt to its wings, the remaining Lethrblaka landed allowing the Ra'zac riding it to dismount and join its brethren. All Eragon saw through the continuous veil of rain were two dark figures and a creature that struck fear into the hearts of mortals with its long beak and leathery body.

"Has Galbatorix sent you?" questioned Eragon as they stood opposite each other, face to face.

He saw one of their beaks opened and they inhaled. Inwardly, he grinned. The tactic that they were trying to use on him was not going to work. He was immune to the breath of the Ra'zac which was enough to send any human into a dream like trance.

It closed its beak and the Ra'zac beside it spoke in a disembodied voice that was so unnatural that it made him grip the pommel of Brisingr tighter. "We have been sent to retrieve the Heartsss. Give them to usss."

"I am afraid that your journey here as well as the death of one of your companions was all for nothing," said Eragon watching as they turned to stare at each other as if silently communicating with one another.

The Ra'zac that spoke turned its head back to him and he saw its hand twitch underneath its robe as if moving to grip something. "You are ssstrong for an elf. Very ssstrong," the Ra'zac said as if surprised that he could possess such strength.

"All you do is prey on the weak," Eragon taunted the Ra'zac. "I doubt that you would challenge a foe that would have any hope of defeating you."

"There are three of usss and one of you," the Ra'zac said as it withdrew its claw like hand, showing a gleaming dagger coated with oil. "Give usss what we seek and we shall spare you."

"I do not need your mercy," said Eragon, as he widened his stance, slanting Brisingr to his body. "So there are three of you. In but a few moments, there shall only be two."

With that said, he leapt forward as the Ra'zac moved to attack as well. They were quick just as he thought and the Lethrblaka was just as strong as it tried to weaken his wards. Still only using one sword to fight, he swung left, right, up, and down to block each and every opening his foes sought to utilize. Shifting his feet slightly, he backtracked as he felt a particular soft spot in the ground below his foot. With practiced ease, he kicked at the legs of one of the Ra'zac watching as the creature steadied itself only to stumble as its leg was caught in the soft hole that was created in the ground.

He elbowed the Ra'zac in the head as he parried another blow from the other, making sure to slant his blade so that it could cause the beak of the Lethrblaka to bounce off. But there was one more tactic that he had yet to utilize that he knew worked against the Ra'zac.

It would have to be timed perfectly. His wards were almost worn to nothing and he could only do so much to block constant attacks from every which way. Reaching for his magic, he turned switching Brisingr from his right hand to his left so that he could use his right to cast his spell. He felt the tip of a dagger pierce his right side which was unguarded, carving a groove of flesh from his skin. There was the smell of burnt flesh but he ignored it as he dove through his mental barriers, gathering the energy needed to cast his spell.

"Kveykva!" shouted Eragon.

Red light, bright as the midday sun flared into existence a contrast to the darkening night. It had no source, and illuminated the area about him clearly. To his back was the Beartooth River and before him were the Ra'zac. The sudden blaze dazzled Eragon, momentarily distracting him, but it did more to the two Ra'zac as well as the remaining Lethrblaka. They gave loud shrill screeches trying to cover their eyes from the blinding light.

Regaining his senses, he readied Brisingr in his left hand arching the sword to the nearest of the Ra'zac. With a shout, he watched as the azure blue blade coated in the blood of the Lethrblaka that he had killed earlier sink into the torso of the Ra'zac. _This is for the time I spent underneath your wretched citadel, _thought Eragon in grim satisfaction. He withdrew Brisingr as the red light began to fade. With another slash, he cleaved the Ra'zac in twain. _And that was for making Arya rip her own hand out._

Letting the halves of the bloody fall to the drenched earth, he turned and dodged the Lethrblaka as it let out an enraged screech. First he had taken the life of one of the Lethrblaka and now, he had killed one of the Ra'zac, one of its children. _Now you understand that I am not an opponent to be messed with, _thought Eragon as he gripped the pommel of Brisingr with both hands once more.

The Ra'zac gave a hiss and he could hear rapid clicking. It then reached underneath its cloak and with great speed threw something towards him. Not seeing what it was due to the rapidness of the action, he brought Brisingr up instinctively to slice whatever it was that was flying his way. There was little to no resistance before a strange violet liquid covered him. He could not feel any sort of effect except for the fact that it covered his eyesight. Dependent on his ears, he turned at the slight hint of sound and dodged what felt like heavy claws ready to gut him.

He heard a whistle to his left and turned once more grunting when he felt something sharp pierce his upper right torso. Jerking back from the attack, he blinked when his foot suddenly came off from the ground and he was falling backwards. A second later, water encompassed him from all sides, threatening to choke him and the violet liquid that had covered his entire front earlier began to burn with a vengeance, almost as if he was in Rhunön's bellow at her forge—as if he was being cooked alive.

Gasping against the pain, he struggled despite the rapid loss of feeling in his limbs. The only thing he could do was sheath Brisingr. The moment his sword was safely sheathed in its scabbard, he felt his energy leave him as a sudden drowsiness swept over his body, trying to protect him from the rampant pain that was erupting through him. He could feel Arya's magic trying to heal his injuries but her magic was not strong enough to heal his wounds and counteract that poisons that he was subjected to.

Darkness flashed in and out and at times as he was casted from side to side from the strong currents of the Beartooth River, he had hallucinations of all sorts. He saw Saphira when she was still young and a hatchling, dependent on him for food. He saw his mother and Murtagh sitting together as they spoke of Murtagh's childhood. He saw Brom young, old, and his father all in one. And then he saw Arya, smiling at him. The vision was replaced to show Arya smiling at Fäolin .

A groan left him as he felt small, strong hands pull him from the current of the river. The world tilting in his eyes, he fought to keep awake and to free himself from whoever it was that was supporting him. He could still feel the rain pelting against his skin and the wind whip against his clothes but elsewise, all of his senses were focused on the great amount of pain that he was suffering from.

He tried to open his mouth to speak with the person beside him but was unable to lift his tongue which felt too heavy. The world was yellow and red and it seemed to spin. At one point in time, he thought he was walking through a field of flowers and the next it felt as if he was drowning once more. Having no other choice but to follow this person, he tried to apologize as his feet were too sluggish for him to move correctly but the petite person, a woman he recognized, did not say anything. She merely continued to help him through the storm and it took him a moment to realize it but eventually, they had found shelter from the pelting rain.

They walked for much longer and the chill made him shiver. But she continued to lead him away from the coldness somehow and eventually, the world was upturned once more and he found himself lying on his back staring up at a beautiful face, framed with midnight tresses and piercing blue eyes. _She was…_but his mind failed him and instead, azure changed to emerald and the features began to shift turning into Arya's concerned face staring down at him.

_Arya…_He wanted to tell her how grateful he was that she had come for him. His mouth fell open but all he heard was a strange raspy sound. Was that him? Arya's expression only seemed to grow more concerned as she reached out with a hand to touch his forehead. He watched in a haze as her red lips parted.

Was she speaking to him?

He shivered as an intense aching coursed through him. Arya's emerald eyes became even more concerned. Her small hands reached down and he felt them unstrapped Vrangr from his back and slide Brisingr from his waist so that he could feel more comfortable. He felt a smile fight its way to his face. She was always thinking of him.

She spoke once more and through his blanketed mind, he could make out her words. "…it will hurt…but…the poison…trust…Eragon…"

Her expression looked as if she was asking him for permission and he forced his head downwards slightly in a nod. Did she understand him? His silent question was answered when her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. Then she reached down and gripped the object that was embedded in his upper right torso. Without so much as a warning, she pulled it free shocking a gasp from him.

Her hands immediately went to cover his wound and she began to speak softly, her voice lulling him to sleep. In the back of his mind, all he heard was Arya's voice like a soothing river flowing through his soul. Feeling drowsy, he fought to keep his eyes open for the fear of her disappearing when he slumbered tore through him. As if seeing his struggle, she pressed down softly on his injury as if to tell him that he could sleep.

With as much effort as he could, he reached up and fighting back the groan that threatened to tear its way through his throat and out of his lips, placed a hand on top of Arya's small ones. Hers were warmed by his blood while his were still chilled from his time in the river and in the elements of the storm. Trying to force his mouth open, he sought for a way to tell her how he felt. _Arya, thank you…_

When his vision began to slip, a sense of panic overwhelmed him.

_Stay with me…please._

He had never begged anyone in his entire life part from Saphira, his mother, and Arya. And he was not ashamed to. But the surprise on her face told him that she had not expected such a request. Dimly in the back of his mind, he felt as if something was wrong with this encounter but could not muster up the strength to contemplate it. The only thing he remembered before drifting off was Arya's lips parting and closing as she spoke to him. And then she was gone as a sense of peace settled over him, blanketing him in its dark embrace.

The waking dreams that he suffered were strange and it bothered him. In and out his dreams came and for some strange reason, he could hear a faint musical voice singing. The voice felt familiar but he could not think much on it as his dreams encompassed his entire subconscious.

_Standing on a shore, Eragon blinked glancing about. Where was he? Turning his head, he continued to search the empty shore that stared out at a vast ocean. Was this still Alagaësia? Frowning to himself, he turned his head when he heard the soft crunch of boots against the rocks that littered the sandy ground._

_His eyes widened at the sight of Arya dressed in her leather outfit, her hair down as she approached him. But she did not dare come any closer than a yard's distance which confused him. Was she bothered by something?_

"_Arya?" asked Eragon cautiously. "Is something wrong?"_

"_Have you forgotten?" she gestured behind him. "Remember your promise to me?"_

_He blinked and turned his head to see a strange ship, docked on the shore where the ocean met land. It was not there before and yet, it had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. "Promise?" Eragon reiterated confused._

_Her emerald eyes widened slightly in surprise as if she was shocked that he couldn't remember. "You do not remember your promise that we would go see Vroengard together?"_

_Realization swept through him and he nodded, trying to dispel her hurt. "I apologize, Arya. I did not realize you were speaking of that particular promise. Of course, I remember. If there is a ship ready and waiting for us, then let us not delay. Let us go see Vroengard together."_

_She smiled and as he took a step toward her another voice stopped him._

"_Eragon stay with me," stunned, Eragon blinked as he turned his head. Standing a few feet away from the Arya before him was another one. The only difference being was that this Arya seemed to hold a gentle air to her. At her right hip was an ancient leaf-blade and not Támerlein, which rested on the hip of the other Arya._

"_Arya?" whispered Eragon in disbelief as he stared at the both of them._

"_Do you not remember the promise you made to my father?" the second Arya said, her eyes deep with emotion. "You are my only friend Eragon. Stay with me. If you leave me, I shall be alone in a land that is not my own and people whom I share but brief memories with."_

"_Eragon, let us go to Vroengard," the first Arya said as he faltered._

_He moved to be with her but the other Arya spoke once more._

"_She does not exist anymore Eragon, your promise to her does not exist," said the second Arya, speaking the deep truth in his heart that only served to pierce him to the bone. "But I exist. I am still here…stay with me."_

But…I…

"_I love you Eragon," the first Arya said holding out her hand to him so that he could take it. "I loved you first. I gave you everything…even now, I still love you. Do not forget my love for you or the promises that we made. Come with me to Vroengard."_

"_Eragon," the other Arya held her hand out, her smile just as familiar as the first. "Stay with me. You are my friend, the only immortal companion I have amongst the Varden. Stay and fight with me. The two of us should be side by side as we were when we spent our days together in Ellesméra."_

I…

"_Eragon…"_

"…_Eragon…"_

"Eragon!"

Groggily stirring from his sleep, he pulled himself from his waking dreams and blinked up at the soft glow of orange light that came from a campfire not far from where he laid. He was lying on soft, warm blankets and vaguely he realized that he was without a shirt and his swords. Alarm shot through him and he fought to sit up but the pain he felt in his side, upper right torso, and arms immobilized him to the spot.

He heard the rustling of movement from the side and a familiar figure entered his line of sight. A breath left him as he stared up at the Elvina's haughty profile which was both beautiful and intimidating. Opening his mouth to speak, he winced when his voice rasped against his throat refusing to be heard. As if anticipating this, she helped him into a sitting position, letting him lean against a rock for support before moving away only to return with a wooden bowl filled with cool water.

Holding it to his lips, she tilted the bowl down so that the water could run its course through his throat relieving him of the dryness that plagued him earlier. "What are you doing here?" asked Eragon wincing slightly as he tested his weak voice.

She sent him a look that clearly said she did not expect to hear those words first thing from his lips. "If you must know, despite being in your rather weaken state, I was wandering about when I saw you, for lack of a better word, float by in the Beartooth River. Of course, I could have let you continue on your way but if I did, my greatest interest would have no doubt drowned."

"I see," murmured Eragon. He glanced down at his bare torso to find that it was healed and raised a brow at Elvina.

"I did not do most of the healing," said Elvina as she gestured to her bags. "I had some antidotes that I usually carry with me whenever I tend to leave the Varden for some time. When I applied it to the poisoned area of your skin, your magic healed the flesh wounds."

He nodded once more, too tired to speak. His hallucinations from earlier as well as the strange dream he had made him want to take comfort in his own solitude. But Elvina would not have that. Instead, she settled herself by his side another wooden bowl in hand and this one steaming with a yellow soup.

"It is merely broth," said Elvina at his questioning stare. "You need to eat so that you can regain your strength." Her expression grew taunting. "And here I thought you were incapable of being injured. It seems as if even you can make simple mistakes every now and then."

Not having the strength to argue with her, he merely swallowed the spoonful of soup that she held to his lips watching as she blinked at his silence. It appeared as if she was not expecting a quiet response. No doubt she was waiting for his sarcastic retort or perhaps his irritated snap.

"What happened?" asked Elvina as she continued to help him eat.

He swallowed another spoonful of soup and after judging that his voice was not going to pain him, spoke softly. "The Ra'zac," he said hoping that she would understand.

She did for her expression immediately became dangerous tinted with a hint of great distaste. "And what were those foul creatures doing so far east?"

"They said they were carrying out a task," Eragon lied uncomfortable with telling Elvina the full truth. She sent him a sharp glare but did not question him. Instead, she seemed to focus her attention on feeding him.

"You are fortunate that I decided to wander near the Beartooth River when I did," said Elvina softly, her haughty expression softening slightly to show something akin to worry. He stared at her surprised. He had thought compassion was far too above Elvina but it seemed as if she was proving him wrong. He watched as she struggled for words as if finding the entire situation difficult and awkward. In a way, she reminded him of himself before he learned how to love others apart from his mother and Saphira. "Else you would have been swept away by the tide of the river."

"Yes," agreed Eragon. It was the first time he had ever agreed with her and he could see that she was once more shocked. It seemed as if she did not know how to handle herself about him when he was not being aloof or annoyed.

Her blue eyes flickered away and he thought he saw a hint of a flush rise up in her cheek as she spoke quietly. "In any case, I am glad that I found you," said Elvina. Perhaps it was merely the glow of the campfire thought Eragon as she held another spoonful of soup to his lips.

He nodded, swallowing the hot liquid. Finding his voice once more, he caught her gaze and held it. Then with the most sincerity he could muster, he spoke quietly hoping that his gratitude permeated his voice. He had never been overly kind to Elvina but after what she had done for him, he would try just this once.

"Thank you Elvina," he said watching as her blue eyes seemed to shine and a flush rise up in her cheeks, this time so strong that he knew it was not the glow of the campfire. He did not voice the thought but watched as she sought to brush off his thanks.

"It seems you have finally learned some manners in the years that I have come to know you," said Elvina, her lips twitched. "Perhaps in another decade you will learn how to greet others civilly in the mornings."

He fought the urge to glare at her but instead turned his eyes to focus on the soup in her hands. Perhaps he had been wrong about Elvina but there was still the sliver of doubt in his heart about the woman, whom in his years of knowing her had not aged. He knew that Elvina was different but he did not know how.

Resigned to merely letting his suspicions fade away for the day, he continued to eat trying to regain his strength. _It was just my hallucination, _thought Eragon as his eyes darted to the fire. _Why would she be here? _Swallowing another spoonful, he blinked when Elvina spoke and for a moment, he heard that soft singing in the back of his mind once more.

_I know that voice…but who does it belong to?_

**And so we see Elvina lending Eragon a helping hand **but...Hmm...In** any case, just a relationship I wanted to explore and I also wanted to introduce another opposition that Eragon will have. He's already killed a Lethrblaka and a Ra'zac, that's another change he's made. I wonder what else. In any case, the many speculations about Elvina is rather nice. I guess you'll all find out in a few more chapters. As for **Formora...well**, let's just say she's a great character to explore. Let's see how this all pans out. Hahaha, Eragon is just finding himself in a bunch of situations! In any case, if there are any errors please PM me but other than that, I hope to see you all soon! (My intentions were to keep you all excited for the next chapter. ****Did it work?)**


	24. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

**So tomorrow is Halloween everyone! Too bad I will be too busy to celebrate. (Personally, for some time now, Halloween has just become my excuse to eat tons of candy-white chocolate only). In any case, there have been some questions for me to answer. 1. Selena is not yet born. She will not be born until a few years later. If I constructed the timeline of the Inheritance Cycle accurately, Selena is around her forties (if she was alive in canon). So she's going to be born in about two more decades I believe. 2. Those who are confused with the time jump by this chapter 41 years has passed since Eragon arrived in this world. And he's known Arya here for about 29 years. And he's been with the Varden for 20 years. (Arya has been with the Varden for 10). 3. There are still 5 more Forsworn to be introduced. 4. Eragon killed one Ra'zac and one Lethrblaka. And with those concerns addressed (hopefully I remembered them all) go on to reading! R&R!**

"What do you do when you wander about?" asked Eragon as he and Elvina walked side by side through one of the many tunnels underneath Farthen Dûr. She shifted her pack with a thoughtful expression. When she did not say anything, Eragon sighed. He should not have expected Elvina to merely give into his questioning so easily. Resigned to merely accepting the fact that she would always remain a mystery, he stared ahead.

"Why are you so curious as to what I do?" asked Elvina as if she could not wander why he bothered trying to understand her. "Am I that great of a mystery to you?" For some reason, she sounded as if she was displeased by the fact that he could not understand her.

"Yes," admitted Eragon just as displeased by the fact.

"Then it is a mutual feeling," said Elvina pinning him with a stare of her own. "As I am a great mystery to you, you are just as great of a mystery to me."

"If you believe that I shall barter a secret for a secret, then you are sorely mistaken," said Eragon with a frown.

She smiled and once more he felt a sense of uneasiness form in his mind. If only Elvina didn't have such a peculiar personality he would not be so cautious. A part of him understood her and seemed to empathize with her but a greater part of him was always cautious and alert about Elvina. "Then where would the enjoyment be if we were to merely trade what little we know of each other to the other?" Elvina shook her head. "No, I prefer learning what I want to learn on my own terms."

Unbidden by him a shiver ran down the length of his spine at her gleaming eyes. He did not understand what it was that she meant by that but it appeared as if she was being serious enough. Turning away from her, he merely grunted before pushing his way forward emerging from the tunnel he and Elvina had been traversing the length of.

"What will you do now?" asked Elvina as they emerged into the wide open space of Farthen Dûr.

"Report to Weldon," said Eragon simply. That was all he needed to do. Then after he would bathe and rest. The events of the past days had been enough to make him exhausted beyond belief. _No doubt Galbatorix sees me as a potential threat now with a few of his Eldunarí missing. He would be more cautious now. _He frowned. Would that make the retrieval of Saphira's egg more difficult?

Perhaps, he shouldn't wait any long to retrieve the eggs. Rather than sending the thief, Hefring, he could leave the Varden momentarily and carry out his plans. He could steal the three eggs and save all the trouble of depending on a cowardly thief that panicked at the last moment. The only obstacle that would present itself thereafter would be the decision between who would lay claim to the three eggs. Evandar would no doubt want the eggs for the elves but the Varden would no doubt want it for their cause. Then there would the dwarves scrambling to be heard in the arguments that would emerge from each side and their own desires for the eggs and their Riders.

"Will you wander off once more?" asked Eragon as he turned to Elvina when they came to the hall that led to Weldon's office.

She shook her head. "I believe I shall stay for a while longer before my other duties carry me away." With one last look in his direction she turned and gracefully swept away. Shaking his head, he turned and left in the direction of Weldon's office.

When he came upon the guards stationed on each side of the black wooden door worn with time, he fought a chuckle when their eyes widened at the sight of him. He was certain he looked a mess. His tunic was torn, dirt was smudged onto his skin, and his hair a right sight. But that did not make them forget his position in the Varden.

The guard to his right immediately pushed the door open for him to which Eragon gave him a nod. Stepping through the doorway into the spacious office, he blinked when the meeting before him came to a halt. To his surprise, he saw Brom as an extra addition to the others. Weldon, Arya, Orik, and Irvine all stood about the square table in the center of the room studying various maps and layouts of the Beor Mountains.

"It seems as if our worries were for naught," said Weldon with a relieved smile as the door closed quietly behind Eragon. He made his way forward, dignified despite his rather battered looking appearance.

"I do not die easily," said Eragon as he came to a stop beside Arya. After suffering that torturous hallucination back when he was poisoned, he was glad to see her once more. For a moment, there was an expression of utmost relief on her beautiful features before it slid away for an expression that was formal and yet welcoming.

"It is good to see that you have returned, Eragon," said Arya softly as she gazed up at him. He fought a smile as her voice washed over him. If only she'd been by his side when he woke but he could not fault Elvina, she was his savior after all.

"Brom rushed back to Farthen Dûr to tell us that Galbatorix is set after you," said Weldon, his expression growing concerned. "What is it that happened on your journey? Your men returned with Marlow in command and all he was able to tell us is that you were attacked and were forced to split ways."

"We were attacked by the Ra'zac and the Lethrblaka," said Eragon feeling rather pleased when Arya appeared to find the newfound information distasteful, almost as if she did not like the thought of him being ambushed. "A thunderstorm blanketed us and made seeing difficult, luckily only a few of my men perished before we split ways."

"Did they escape?" asked Brom his eyes hard.

"Only one pair did, I killed a Ra'zac and Lethrblaka," said Eragon watching as satisfaction swept across his father's features only to be stamped out.

"This will make Galbatorix all the more irritable. He values the Ra'zac and Lethrblaka greatly due to their skills in hunting their prey," Brom said quietly.

"What of it?" questioned Eragon turning his head to his father, a brow raised as if daring Brom to challenge his capabilities.

"He will only target you with greater ambition," said Brom. The fingers of his right hand tapped against the wooden surface of the table that they stood about. "It can only mean that he has set his sights on you. And from what you have told us thus far, it seems as if he is intent on killing you."

"Perhaps he is," agreed Eragon relaxed while the others appeared tensed and grim faced as if Brom had announced his funeral. "That does not deter me in any way. He can send as many lackeys as he wants after me, I will not be defeated easily."

"Even so, it will be best if you are cautious where you travel now," Brom warned. He inwardly scoffed. He was not going to be a coward and merely do as he was told and stow away. He was already in enough danger as it was, whether or not he had irritated Galbatorix by taking the Eldunarí he did not know but it did not bother him in the slightest.

"I will take that thought into consideration," said Eragon with a nod of his head to Brom.

"And we will also have to take precautions as well," said Brom eyeing the map that had the tunnels laid out before them. "We will need more guards patrolling the perimeters and such."

"No one will escape from having their minds searched," added Eragon as he folded his arms over his chest as Brom spoke. His father nodded and they set out to increase the defenses about the Varden so that the possibilities of spies would be close to eliminated.

The meeting went on for several hours and he was glad when Weldon called for a cease in planning. "We have planned since the crack of dawn and I believe that Eragon should be given time to rest after his journey," said Weldon eyes flickering to Eragon.

"That would be much appreciated," said Eragon with a nod as he watched as everyone moved towards the door. He went to do so stopping when Weldon called out to him once more.

"I will not keep you but tomorrow by early morn if you can come see me Eragon, I have matters of importance to discuss with you," said Weldon, his face appearing tired and aged. Sympathetic towards the leader of the Varden, Eragon nodded and was the last to leave the room.

Just as he had promised himself earlier, the moment he'd returned to his room he had stripped himself of his ruined clothing and immediately went to bathe in his washroom. Then in merely trousers, he slipped beneath the covers of his lush bed allowing himself to sink into the mattress and sleep.

Nothing came to him that night apart from flashes of memories that revolved around two worlds and people who were the same and yet different. Content to merely sleeping his entire day away until Weldon called for him, he blinked when he heard the sound of his door opening. Brows furrowed, he groaned when a bright voice called out to him.

"Are you awake, Eragon?"

"What do you want at this time of day?" groaned Eragon as he peeled an eyelid back to take in the sight of Angela closing the door behind her to bustle about his room. Feeling frustrated he merely turned away hoping to whatever greater divinity that existed that Angela would just leave the moment she came.

However, it was never so with Angela. "Eragon," he grumbled when he felt the presence of the witch beside his bed. The opportunity to sleep in always passed him by and he was not going to let it do so now. Refusing to sit up, he laid there hoping that his reluctance to actually move would deter Angela.

"Get up," she said as if she was directly next to him. For one strange moment he had a fleeting feeling of panic. It seemed wrong and obtuse of him to even allow Angela entrance into his chambers. _It is just Angela, _Eragon thought to himself and as strange as it sounded, she was his only close confidant at the moment—at least until time righted itself, if it ever did.

Calmed with that thought in mind, he continued sleeping only to be rudely awoken when he felt a small hand slap at his face, chasing all notions of sleep from his mind. Irritated, he sat up and turned to Angela, eyes narrowed and lips curled back ready to snap at her.

He would have except for the fact that she pushed a bowl of emerald liquid underneath his nose. The smell reached his delicate senses and he nearly gagged for a moment. Was she trying to poison him in his sleep? "Have you lost it?" Eragon asked finally as he stared at her aghast. Her features appeared eerily distorted over the glow the liquid seemed to have on her face.

"Me? Well, no one truly is _sane _really," said Angela as she contemplated his words. Then her eyes narrowed as she reached out and poked him where he was injured during his fight with the Ra'zac. "Elvina told me that you were poisoned during your little skirmish with the Ra'zac and the Lethrblaka and it looks as if she was right. Her herbs and antidotes have only worked to a certain extent but there is still some residue left. With enough time, it can seep into your skin and silently do away with you."

She poked him roughly once more causing a stinging sensation to erupt throughout his body. "Stop touching me," said Eragon as he swatted her fingers away.

She harrumphed and tossed her hair, glaring at him. "If you would but sit still and let me apply this to your wounds—"

He stared at her with a raised brow. She bristled at his look and opened her mouth to say more but was stopped short when there was a light knock against his door followed by a beautiful accented voice. "Eragon?"

"Perfect," murmured Angela and before he could stop her, she set the bowl down on his bedside table and swept towards the door opening it to reveal Arya. He saw from where he sat on his bed how Arya's eyes widened slightly at the sight of Angela before her, never before expecting the witch to be the one greeting her in _his _doorway. "Ah, Arya, just the person I needed."

"Am I interrupting something important?" asked Arya appearing slightly bewildered.

Angela shook her head and immediately guided the elven ambassador into his chambers. "No, of course not," said Angela as she turned her head to give Eragon a rather smug look. Since she had found out the truth behind his existence, Angela had been intent on observing every little aspect of his life. Unfortunately, her observation had extended to Arya and she appeared to have an inkling as to why it was Eragon seemed to treat Arya so differently from others. "All you missed was Eragon acting like a spoilt child."

"Spoilt?" Arya frowned as if feeling offended for him that Angela had insulted him.

"Yes, spoilt," said Angela as if Arya had agreed with her rather than questioned her. "Perhaps you can remedy that flaw in his character."

"And perhaps you can see yourself out Angela," said Eragon with a scowl as he pinned the witch with a glare. She was starting to remind him of Elvina and her own bad habit of letting herself into his chambers. "If I recall, uninvited guests are never welcomed."

"Well then, I suppose I shall be leaving," the herbalist said much to Eragon's surprise. She never gave in to his intent easily. He watched as she reached for the bowl that she had set on his bedside table before handing it to Arya, who blinked at her owlishly. "If you would see to it that he applies this on his wounds from earlier for me Arya, I would sleep easier knowing that the spearhead of all our efforts isn't going to die silently in the night."

With that said, she waved merrily at them and swept out of the room closing his door shut behind her. Eragon sighed, reaching up to run a hand through his hair and wincing at the sudden pain that erupted all over his front side. That had certainly not been there earlier. He watched with cautious eyes as Arya tentatively pulled a seat up to his bedside, elegantly settling herself down alongside his bed.

The part of him that longed for Arya's touch over the years they'd spent side by side wanted to reach out and lift her up in his arms and press her to him. It was odd to think that he knew exactly how she felt against him when theoretically, he and Arya had never been more than friends in this world. But in his mind, he had memories of his time with her. He knew how soft her skin was, how warm her body was, how she relaxed she could become in his arms, and how responsive and passionate she was. Though he was certain that if the Arya before him had any inkling that he was thinking about her inappropriately she would be very offended. Pushing the thoughts from his mind, he turned to Arya with an apologetic smile.

"It is unnecessary Arya," said Eragon lifting a hand to gesture to the bowl in her hands. "You do not need to tend to me. You are no doubt needed elsewhere."

An expression passed on her face and he watched as she slowly shook her head. "You have always came to my aid when I needed assistance," said Arya appearing rather stubborn at the moment. "It is only right that I help you in your time of need." Then her lips lifted into a smile, "You are my friend Eragon. I do not mind helping you if it means that it will ease your pain."

His heart thudded at her words and he watched as she reached down with her left hand and coated her palm in the green liquid that rested in the wooden bowl in her right hand. Then with deliberate movements, she reached up and gently rested her hand against the injury on his chest.

Instantly he felt his body warm to her touch. Glad that his skin did not noticeably flush he could not help but watch as she applied the antidote to his skin, her brows furrowed as if she was in deep concentration.

After a long moment of silence, Arya spoke. "Does it hurt much?"

"My injury?" asked Eragon. She nodded her head, her emerald eyes flickering to his before coming back to rest on his chest where she was still gently applying the antidote to his skin. He could feel a slight stinging sensation to it still but the pain that had induced his earlier hallucinations was gone. "Not as much as I had before. I suppose I ought to thank Angela for seeing to it that I do not slip away in the silence of the night."

He blinked when he felt the slight increase of pressure of her hand against his chest. "What happened?"

Never one to deny Arya an answer, he described to her what happened during his travels back to the Varden with his company of eighty soldiers. It was fascinating to watch her reaction to his story, thought Eragon. The Arya before him did not keep most of her emotions guarded. In fact, he could not remember a time when Arya sought to ever censor her thoughts or emotions from him. Was it because she did not understand the true agony of war yet?

_The true agony of war isn't being wounded yourself, it's having to watch those you care about being hurt._

His heart tightened at the thought of Arya suffering the loss of a loved one or a friend due to the perils of fighting. He did not want her to understand the words she had told him in his own time. He wanted to protect her but yet at the same time, he knew that if he sheltered her he would only serve to staunch the blossoming of an Arya that understood the risks of fighting and the precious value of life.

As he told her of his fight with the Ra'zac and the Lethrblaka, he watched as her expression changed to distaste to concern and then to relief. Did she trust him that much that she did not see the need to guard herself around him? He found himself feeling rather lighthearted.

"Elvina saved you?" asked Arya quietly as he turned slightly allowing her to rub the antidote onto his upper back where the poison had traveled after it had landed on his front due to the wind.

"She was wandering about once more," said Eragon hoping that those words were explanation enough for Elvina and her strange behaviors. "She saw me float by in the Beartooth River and came to my aid. Had it not been for her I would have been fatally wounded and no doubt hallucinating from pain and poison combined."

"Elvina…certainly is strange," murmured Arya pausing as her emerald eyes connected with his. He blinked, feeling himself become lost with their depths. "She reminds me of Rosalie…she never ages, not even in the nine years we have known her has her appearance changed."

"It is strange," said Eragon with a frown as he was once more reminded of how unnatural Elvina appeared. "But there is no reason to distrust her. She has not caused any trouble during her stays with the Varden and she was willing to comply with having her mind being searched." _And yet, I still find myself unable to trust her fully. _"She gave us no reason to distrust her apart from her rather aloof disposition and oftentimes affronting nature."

"That she hasn't," agreed Arya, she paused once more and he had to stop the sound that wanted to escape his lips as she seemed to be absentmindedly caressing his shoulder blades, the coolness of the antidote adding to the effect. "Elvina has a strange interest in you, Eragon."

"You are not the first to notice," said Eragon wryly. He sighed lightly, "I have nothing to offer her—or any one for the matter—and she still insists on holding her interests to me alive." That was true enough. He had nothing to offer Elvina or anyone else. Not even Arya. In this world he was nothing. Yes, there were those who called him the spearhead of the Varden alongside Weldon but apart from that what did he have to offer to others?

"That is not true," said Arya and he could tell from her tone of voice that she was frowning. "You have much to offer." His eyes flickered to her and for a moment he thought he saw a slight tinge of red to her cheeks but her hair shifted as she moved to reach another spot on his back where the poison had seeped into his skin.

"In any case, I would not worry about Elvina too much for now," said Eragon as he remembered what Brom had said. He had killed a pair of Ra'zac and Lethrblaka. In his time, there were two pairs of the foul creature and its parent. Now, he had changed it unless the cult of Helgrind allowed another egg to hatch. He frowned at the thought. Not only that but nine of the thirteen Forsworn were still alive and though Brom was devising strategy after strategy to kill them off, it bothered him to know that so many of Galbatorix's lackeys were roaming Alagaësia. And then there was Durza doing whatever he pleased.

And then there was Faust.

His eyes narrowed dangerously as he remembered the man who had tortured him as a child. He did not know much of Faust's history apart from when he served Galbatorix. It would be hard to find the man since his background was just as elusive as his nature.

"Does it not frighten you?"

He blinked as he heard Arya's voice pierce his thoughts. Did what frighten him? He turned his head to stare at her, blinking as he felt her warm breath wash over his neck slightly. Instantly he was reminded of all the times Arya had rested her head against his shoulder or in the crook of his neck. His tender affections for her coursing through his veins, he turned to find her staring at him in worry.

"Does what frighten me?" asked Eragon softly knowing that they were broaching a sensitive subject. In the many years that he'd known Arya in this world, he was able to build a mutual relationship of trust and friendship with her. And he hoped that whenever she learned of his true nature that she would forgive his deception.

"The fact that it seems as if Galbatorix is intent on your death," said Arya quietly as if she could not bring herself to speak of it any louder.

She was concerned for his safety, Eragon thought surprised, touched, and pleased all at once. Maybe she considered him a dearer friend than he thought he was worth to her. He twisted slightly as she reached for more of the liquid to coat her hand in before she reached up to smooth it over the rest of his injuries.

"Dying does not really frighten me," said Eragon quietly watching as her hand stilled and she lifted her head towards him, her eyes bright. "I should have died decades ago but I did not and I was given a chance to keep living while I was robbed of my loved ones. Dying…is a natural process of life, Arya. The only difference is that some die sooner than others. No one can escape death, not even Galbatorix. If Galbatorix is out for my blood, I will not cower in fear. But I can tell you that I do not intend on dying any time soon. There is still much to be done here with the Varden."

She did not say anything but began to gently ease the antidote onto his skin once more. Her silence spoke volumes and he understood what it was that she could not bring herself to say. She did not want to lose him.

"_Do you not remember the promise you made to my father? You are my only friend Eragon. Stay with me. If you leave me, I shall be alone in a land that is not my own and people whom I share but brief memories with."_

Her words from his nightmarish hallucination came back to him with a vengeance. He swallowed as his eyes darted to Arya. Was this all just too much of a coincidence? Or was it something else entirely?

"_Eragon, stay with me. You are my friend, the only immortal companion I have amongst the Varden. Stay and fight with me. The two of us should be side by side as we were when we spent our days together in Ellesméra."_

"You should be healed from the antidote," said Arya as she started to withdraw her hand. Thinking of his hallucination, he reached out to take her hand feeling his heart ache at the fact that he could not reach out and take the hand his Arya had offered to him in his hallucination.

"_I love you Eragon. I loved you first. I gave you everything…even now, I still love you. Do not forget my love for you or the promises that we made. Come with me to Vroengard."_

_I know you loved me first Arya, _thought Eragon as he stared at the deep emeralds before him drinking in the surprise that was present in her jaded eyes. Despite the coolness of her hand from the antidote, he felt as if his hand was ablaze with warmth. Trying to rein in his feelings, his grip tightened on her hand as he lowered his head towards her to speak to her in a serious voice, the ancient language flowing from his lips.

"No matter what, Arya," murmured Eragon as he gazed at her willing for her to understand the depths of his feelings for her even if he himself did not know anymore how he felt towards this Arya. In his heart, he loved Arya whether it be the one before him on his Arya. Because they were the same person, because they were the same elf princess divided by two different worlds. "I will keep fighting for my life. Even in the face of death itself, I will not surrender until my last breath. I will not die easily."

Her surprise seemed to only heighten as his words washed over her and after a moment, she nodded a faint smile gracing her features as she squeezed his hand gently to show that she understood his words. Reluctantly, Eragon released her hand watching as she stood and navigated about his chambers. Gesturing her towards his washroom, he waited patiently for her to return after she washed her hands. While she did so, he moved to don his tunic. Perhaps Arya would be more comfortable if he were fully clothed.

When she exited his washroom, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, lacing up his leather boots. He glanced up at the sound of her footsteps turning to her as she resumed her seat by his bed. "Are you feeling better now?" asked Arya her eyes darting to his clothed torso.

"The pain has gone," said Eragon with a slight smile. "Thank you, Arya."

"It is of little concern," she said quietly as she watched him.

"Even then it means much to me," said Eragon honestly as he lowered his foot onto the ground having finished tying the laces of his right boot. He turned to her, this time the one curious. "Was there something you needed of me Arya? That is before Angela forced you into tending to me."

The gleam that he had come to find endearing appeared in her eyes once more and he could not help but feel his smile widen. "I was hoping that if you were not busy or tired that perhaps you would walk with me about Tronjheim," suggested Arya. "We have been busy as of late and have had little time to speak with each other as friends should."

"Then let us go," said Eragon standing. Her rewarding smile warmed his blood. Strapping Vrangr to his back and sliding Brisingr into place on his left hip, he followed Arya out of his chambers. As he closed the door, he noted the small piece of folded paper tucked in the he corner of the doorway. Curious, he bent to pick it up, unfolding it to find neat handwriting etched on the parchment.

_You are welcome rude one._

_Meddlesome herbalist, _thought Eragon as he crumbled the piece of paper in his hand tucking it away in his pockets. He turned to find Arya standing a few paces ahead of him waiting for him to join her company. Walking towards her, he could not help but feel an intense sense of longing in his heart for the Arya that knew who he was—for the Arya that was his mate. But instead, he pushed the thought aside and fell into step beside Arya. And like they had perfected since their time together when Arya was younger, the two of them began to wander about together speaking of everything and of nothing.

Perhaps one day during their wanderings they would stumble upon the flower that Arya had spoken about to him long ago. For now, he was just content to be by her side.

The following day as Eragon had promised Weldon, he had arrived in his office at the crack of dawn surprised to only find the leader of the Varden waiting for him and no one else. He had thought that perhaps Irvine would be present but it seemed that Weldon only wanted to speak to him.

"You must be wandering why I only asked for your presence today, Eragon," said Weldon with a smile as he regarded Eragon. He remained silent waiting for Weldon to continue. "It is odd to think that I met you in the prime of my youth and now here we are years later. And you are as I remembered you, forever unchanged by the mark of time while I am near my middle years."

"And your mind is still as sharp as I remembered when I had first met you," said Eragon softly.

"You are too kind," said Weldon as he leaned back in his armchair to observe Eragon, folding his fingers together. "You are an old friend of mine Eragon, one that I trust without hesitation and question. In all my years leading the Varden you have been a great advisor and confidant to me. You have helped create a group that can be proudly called a group fighting for independence against Galbatorix and for that I thank you," uneasy with the way the conversation was moving, Eragon waited for Weldon to continue. "I asked for your presence today because I want you to be the first to know what it is that I would like to do next with my life, old friend."

"What is it that you wish to do, Weldon?" asked Eragon patiently waiting for Weldon to speak.

"I believe it is time I stepped down from the mantle of leader and give my position over to someone who is young and fit to lead the Varden into a new generation."

**There is about 58 more years before time catches up so there will plenty going on in the following chapters after this. The fact that Weldon is retiring is going to show how things are going to be changing now since a new leader will be chosen for the Varden. This chapter I guess is just to show how important of a friend Eragon is to Arya and I'm thinking of writing another Arya POV so that we can see more of her character development some time soon and see how she regards Eragon, Faolin, Elvina, etc. To those who addressed some concerns, I don't think I'm going to be writing often when my backpacking trip starts but I hope I don't disappear at long lengths of time. That would be horrible! I like this story too! In any case, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! ****I hope to see you all soon.**


	25. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

**So how was everyone's Halloween? I had a rather splendid time with my friends. But we shall not speak of that. Anyways, this chapter is a filler and the next one will feature a time jump and it will be somewhat confusing but I shall try my best to weave the explanation into the chapter itself. Anyways, we have some ways to travel still and I'm starting to feel a writer's muse coming on. (I wish there was medicine to this). In any case, since nothing really stood out to me in the reviews I'll let you all read happily. (Oh, if you see any mistakes PM me!) R&R!**

"And so I would like to tell you all that I have made my decision to step down as leader of the Varden," concluded Weldon as he gazed about the table, his eyes darting from face to face. While his own expression remained passive, Eragon took a mild interest in studying those about him. His father, who sat across from him, was frowning slightly but there was a look of understanding in his blue eyes. Beside him, Orik appeared surprised, for his eyes were wide and his lips pursed. Turning his head slightly, he tried to discern Arya's expression.

An indifferent façade dictated her appearance but he could tell from the slight shine in her eyes that there was a slight gleam in her irises that he knew was one of sadness and yet acceptance. In the years she'd served as her father's ambassador, she had developed a steady friendship with Weldon and to see him, aged and unable to continue fighting, must have been a blow for her. _And slowly, a piece of that dream in which you can dance and sing without feeling impending doom is chipped away, _thought Eragon as he fisted his hands underneath the table.

Moving his eyes away from Arya, he turned to the Council of Elders. Their expression varied from shock to satisfaction and to triumph as if they were the victors in this situation.

Eydis, now aged and gray-haired leaned forward in her seat, her piercing eyes traveling from Eragon to Weldon. "And pray tell who it is that shall be filling in your position as the leader of the Varden once you've stepped down."

Weldon frowned, his eyes darting to Eragon. "I had planned to ask Eragon to take control," said Weldon quietly. Instantly everyone about the table stiffened, turning their heads to face him. Unperturbed by suddenly becoming the focus of attention, he relaxed in his seat as he waited for Weldon to speak. "However, he has expressed a desire to pursue his own interests whilst helping the Varden as he had been doing for the past twenty years. He has no desire to be leader of the Varden."

Just like that, the tension about the room eased significantly. For a moment, Eragon felt somewhat offended that they believed him incapable of leading the Varden but he let the moment pass. Instead, he focused his attention on Weldon as he spoke.

"That would leave the matter of finding someone to take up the mantle as leader of the Varden," said Weldon. Despite being in his middle years, he still spoke with authority and force showing that he still had the capabilities of being heard and understood.

"I believe that the process of finding a successor is a task that should be left to the Council," said Berthold, who was very quick to let his thoughts be heard. The rest of the Council of Elders nodded, showing that they agreed with Berthold's thoughts.

"Your opinions may hold some weight," said Eragon speaking up for the first time since the beginning of the meeting. He straightened slightly in his seat to adopt a posture that he had come to think of as a needed part of his ensemble for his imperious demeanor. "However, do not forget that Orik and Arya also have as much say in the matters of determining a successor to Weldon."

Karvel looked mutinous but he nodded. "Of course, we would not go about choosing a successor without the opinions of our allies." His expression was sour as if he had swallowed a whole lemon. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the slight upturn of the corners of Arya's lips but as soon as it was there it was gone.

"In any case," said Brom after there was a few minutes of silence in which they all thought to themselves about the direction of the Varden after Weldon stepped down. "Do you have someone in mind as of yet?"

"Deynor," said Eragon without hesitation. Though Deynor was desperate during his time, Eragon could not see another person left to lead to lead the Varden. He did not want to risk allowing the Varden to stray too far off course as he had remembered it. He lifted his head to pierce Weldon with a somber expression. "He has proven to be an able commander and leader."

"Deynor," murmured Weldon while Berthold glanced at Eragon with a frown.

"You are suggesting a man you've trained?" he asked as if displeased with the thought.

"Does it bother you?" asked Eragon turning his head to Berthold. He could see the man's jaw clenching and unclenching but he did not say anymore.

Saldís, having apparently had enough of her own silence, spoke for the first time during the meeting. "Why not someone other than a commander? Perhaps someone more fluent in the ways of politics and leading."

"And who do you suggest holds such standards as yours?" Eragon cut across her firmly. He refused to let the Council of Elders gain any holdings in the proceedings. Each time they tried to advance, he would firmly force them to retreat. They needed to know that their own self-interests came second to the interest of the Varden. "Deynor is a fit commander and he understands the way of leading a group of people. I see there's no reason as to not having him as a potential leader."

He could see hard expressions on the faces of the members of the Council of Elders but the others appeared differently. Orik appeared to be fighting a smile while his father looked amused. His eyes darted to Arya and there was a touch of satisfaction in her expression. _I understand now why Arya was so upset with me when I had agreed to swearing fealty to Nasuada, _thought Eragon. The balance of power was a sensitive matter in regards to the Varden and he could not have any one upsetting it.

"Eragon has suggested Deynor," said Weldon as his eyes swept across the table. "Does anyone have any other particular person in mind that they believe would fulfill the post as leader well enough?"

"If Eragon," Arya spoke softly, her rich and accented voice lilting in tone as it washed over their ears. "Believes Deynor to be a capable leader then I shall not argue with him. His judgment has never failed us before. The king would not be opposed to supporting one such as Deynor."

Trying not to look too pleased at her words of certainty, he fought a smile when Orik nodded with a grunt. "Aye, my thoughts are the same as Arya. Eragon has never led the Varden astray in his suggestions and opinions. He has been a steadfast ally of the Varden."

With the two of them having voiced their thoughts, Eragon could see that the Council of Elders was hard pressed to argue their point. _Even if they can think of a puppet to manipulate, Arya and Orik would never agree to it, _thought Eragon rather satisfied. It was somewhat odd for him to think it, but over time he had grown to become a master at politics. He understood the workings behind others self-interests and knew how to counter them. Not only that but he could effectively corner those when the time called for it. There wasn't a time in which he was unable to turn tables in his favor. _Trust comes a long way it seems. _Having Orik, Arya, and Weldon behind his suggestion made him confident that the Council of Elders would have to give in to his intent.

There was a long pause in the meetings before Berthold, his eyes narrowed and his jaw visibly clenching, spoke. "Then let us call for Deynor and see how he views this proposal," said Berthold acquiescing to his suggestion. Seeing how their most outspoken member had relented the rest had no choice but to follow behind.

He sat back in his seat satisfied as Weldon sent for a runner to fetch Deynor. He was content to merely sit there in silence as was everyone else. There wasn't much else to talk about while they waited for Deynor. Instead, he let his mind wander. Was it wise of him to pick Deynor as a successor? The only fault he remembered about the man was that he was desperate to strengthen the group of magicians in the Varden. Elsewise, he was an apt leader and had led the Varden until Ajihad had taken over.

Deynor was also the person in charge at the time when Thorn's egg was stolen. He had also made the mistake of accepting the twins into the Varden. Resting his elbow on the armrest of his chair, he rested his chin in his palm as he thought. When were the wretched twins going to show their traitorous faces? They were the ones who had been steadily giving vital information of the Varden to Galbatorix. They were also the reason why Arya and her companions had been ambushed on their return to Farthen Dûr. If they ever did show their faces, he would not hesitate to do away with them on sight.

He was jolted from his thoughts when the door to their chamber opened and the younger runner by the name of Kal appeared, timid and hesitant. He announced Deynor's arrival and Eragon watched as the young blond haired man that he had trained when he was younger stepped through the door. He was not as tall as Weldon but his build showed him as a fit and trained warrior. His brown eyes were dark and they seemed to hold everything at a distance, as if silently judging what they saw.

"You called for me sir," said Deynor quietly as Kal was dismissed.

"Yes, please take a seat Deynor," said Weldon gesturing to the lone seat at the end of the rectangular table opposite the leader of the Varden. The young man moved to do so looking as if he was unsure of himself and why he was called so suddenly. "Do not worry Deynor, you were not called here to be punished or reprimanded."

"We called you here," said Karvel shooting Eragon a fleeting look of distaste, "Because we believe that you have the skill and capabilities necessary to be the next leader of the Varden."

If Deynor was surprised, he hid it well. Impressed, Eragon focused his attention on the man. He had been correct to not change the history of the Varden thought Eragon. Deynor's attitude reminded him somewhat of Nasuada when she was chosen as the next leader of the Varden. He was calm and appeared to be in control of his emotions and actions. It was very interesting thought Eragon as he sat back in his seat to observe Deynor. To think he would be a deciding factor in choosing the next leader for the Varden. He almost wanted to laugh aloud.

"You have proven to be a worthy commander," said Weldon, eyes and voice serious as he observed the man who could possibly be the person to succeed him. Would he pass their test? The first time Deynor was chosen as the successor to Weldon but he had no information nor any sort of reason to trust that it would go just as smoothly this time. His presence could have a big impact as well as the fact that he had suggested Deynor as a potential successor. "And as such you have the fortitude and the capabilities of leading a great group of people such as the Varden."

"However, if you find yourself incapable of carrying out such an important obligation we will not force an unwilling person into such a spot," said Eydis smoothly as if willing Deynor to understand her train of thought. Eragon frowned. If Deynor was as competent as he gave him credit for than the man would not bow his head to the Council's demands.

Would he understand what it took to be a leader?

He stared at Deynor hoping that the man would not give in and show any sort of weakness to the Council. His worries were unfounded for Deynor merely straightened in his head with a proud expression, his chin held high. "It is an honor that you would turn to someone such as myself from but a humbled and quiet background to lead the Varden. If you consider me to be fit to lead, then I shall hold myself honorably and do so."

He fought the urge to grin at the looks on the members of the Council of Elders. They appeared to look as if they had be struck violently. They last straw for command had not swayed their way and it appeared as if they were once more forced to take another step back.

"To hear you say that puts my worries at ease," said Weldon with a smile as he gave Deynor an appraising look.

"Then let us ask you now Deynor," said Eragon as he turned to the man, who tensed at the sound of his voice. Amusement coursed through him, "At ease, whether or not your reply is favorable I shall not make you run laps thereafter."

"I apologize," Deynor said looking rather embarrassed at his own reaction.

Eragon pushed it aside. He understood the man's sudden response to his voice. It was a known fact that he was harsh on all of those he'd trained and Deynor was no exception. To rise to the post he had as a commander below Irvine, he had to survive the strictest of trainings that Eragon had set out for him. His response to Eragon was no doubt out of reflex.

"Are you willing to pledge yourself to the cause of the Varden no matter the cost?" asked Eragon seriously. "It will be more than what you are doing now as a commander. It will involve more than merely fighting but rather it will involve you trying to make a life for those who lost theirs to Galbatorix. Are you confident that you could uphold yourself honorably and carry out what you believe to be right and just for others who do not have the power to make the decisions themselves?"

He was quiet for a moment as he gathered himself but Eragon could tell that his words had shaken Deynor to the reality of what they were proposing. No longer would he be in command of merely fighting but he would have to take the lead and teach the others how to properly _live._

Determination shining in his eyes Deynor nod. "I am willing to pledge all that I am to the Varden's cause, without a doubt."

"Strong words," said Brom with a look of approval as Weldon nodded, pleased by Deynor's determination.

He glanced to Arya and spoke, "Will the elves have any objections? Or rather, are there any opinions that you would like to say, Arya?" Weldon asked the quiet elven ambassador who had been quietly surveying Deynor.

She turned to the leader of the Varden, her eyes dark before she shook her head. "I cannot speak for my king but I find nothing objectionable to it. Deynor has my blessing." Weldon nodded before turning to Orik to ask if he had any objections to which he merely shook his head.

After that, they had planned to make an announcement to the Varden as a whole using the underground amphitheater to do so. While they were preparing, Eragon merely watched the ongoing events only speaking when necessary but he found himself distracted by a sudden thought that gripped at him. He had been living in this world for nearly forty two years now and this was another moment that brought to the forefront the realization that he had been living the false life he had built for himself for longer than he did his own life.

If he thought about it, he wouldn't be born until another four decades passed. _The moment of convergence, _thought Eragon his eyes flickering to the others as he felt a change in the conversation but there wasn't anything important for him to take part of so he remained quiet. His eyes darted to Arya and he wondered for a brief moment what would happen if she found out the truth about him. Would she believe him? Would she hate him for lying to her? Would she believe that he manipulated her into doing what she did up to now? He wanted answers but he couldn't bring himself to ask it of her.

Instead he merely tightly gripped the armrest of his armchair.

"It is decided," said Weldon shaking Eragon from his thoughts. He blinked as he felt the finality of the conversation sink in. Were they done for the day? "Three days from now, we shall begin have Deynor sworn in as the new leader of the Varden."

When all eyes turned to Eragon he nodded. They would be setting a new precedent for the people of the Varden since they had never had the need to decide a new leader for the Varden until now. Everything had to go accordingly else, the structure of the Varden would be shaken. "I see no reason as to not proceed," said Eragon showing his thoughts on the matter. No one questioned him. When the meeting was called to an end, he stood and exited much in the same process as everyone else did.

Before he did though, he paused when Deynor approached him. He bowed his head formally and brought his fisted right hand up to lay over his heart, a salute that showed fealty and respect—a salute that he had made for the soldiers of the Varden.

"You need not continue such decorum, Deynor," said Eragon with an amused smile. "In a few days' time you shall be the new leader of the Varden."

"In a few days' time I shall be the new leader," agreed Deynor with a nod. "But I am still a soldier and you have been with the Varden since before I was born. It is only right that I continue to pay you my respects whether I am the leader of the Varden or not. You have taught me what it was that I needed to bring me here today."

"It appears as if I am very humbled amongst the presence of those part of the Varden," said Eragon remembering how humbled he felt with Weldon in the last twenty years. He straightened feeling Vrangr's comforting presence against his back. "Now, what is it that you wanted to speak to me of?"

"I was told that you were the one to suggest that I take up the post as the new leader of the Varden," said Deynor, this time the person who felt humbled. Eragon nodded.

"I can see your potential as clear as day," said Eragon seeing no need to lie to Deynor. "As long as you can apply it correctly, you will be fine." His expression grew serious. "Do not think of me as condescending when I say this to you, Deynor but if there was one advice that I could impart with you today it would be this: you cannot appease everyone," he paused gathering his thoughts before he continued. "You have to understand Deynor that no longer shall you merely be speaking to warriors who understand the way of the blade but rather to wives, mothers, children, and those who merely sought the Varden to escape Galbatorix. Not only that, but the dwarves will be watching from one view and the elves another. Whatever you do as the leader of the Varden, do not forget the audience that shall be watching and never think that it is your duty to satisfy all."

"I have still much to learn," murmured Deynor as he lowered his head letting Eragon's words travel his mind.

"Do not worry," Eragon reassured him. "You shall have friends to help you along the way."

"It would be an honor to count you amongst my friends," Deynor said solemnly. For one so young, he had a rather upright and noble attitude thought Eragon impressed. He nodded and with a clap of his hand on Deynor's shoulder turned and left. With the most important task done for the day he was left to find something to fill his time with as he usually did.

Arya was no doubt busy compiling a report for her father for next she returned to Ellesméra and he did not want to bother her. After their walk together yesterday, he had taken up enough of her time. If there was one thing that Eragon despised, it was becoming a burden to those he cared about. Unsure of what to do, he eventually found himself sitting on a stone stump in the stone forest of Farthen Dûr.

_How odd…trees turned to stone..._

Gazing at the stone trees, he took in a deep breath. It was an odd feeling thought Eragon in hindsight. A forest that was turned to stone over time…forever laying beneath the Beor Mountains. Time here was stagnant. It passed but nothing changed. Sitting there, he was content to merely stare at the stone surrounding as his thoughts took the better of him. He wanted to mourn. But for what? He wasn't even sure himself.

"For some reason, I'm not surprised to find you here."

He didn't even have the heart to form a retort to Elvina's words. He glanced up momentarily to find her standing beside him a dark cloak drawn about her shoulders. Her hair was elegantly done into a plait that curled about her neck giving her a rather warm look but her piercing blue eyes spoke otherwise.

When he made no motion to respond to her, Elvina settled herself beside him. She must have sensed the mood he was in for she did not make her usual sarcastic or biting remarks. There were no insults about his rudeness nor any baiting comments that was said to get a rise out of him. For one strange moment, he thought she was giving him silent comfort. _But why would she? _He did away with the thought as soon as it entered his mind.

Perhaps Elvina had changed in that one short moment that they had shared in the cave when she had saved him. What was it that was bothering him so much in regards to Elvina? Now that he thought about it, she had never been threatening nor dangerous but each encounter with her always left him cautious and alert. Was he being overly paranoid? Maybe Elvina was not as horrid as he considered her to be.

"Are you feeling ill?" asked Elvina after a long moment of prolonged silence. Eragon inwardly sighed. To think that he was trying to see her in a better light. After a long moment, he shook his head. "Your lack of response is rather unnerving."

"I am not in the mood to jest," said Eragon snapping slightly. Why did it always seem that Elvina wanted a cause to spark his anger?

"There was no need to reply like so," said Elvina coolly her blue eyes observing him.

Sighing, he brought his hand up to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. The last few days had not been pleasant for him. His mind and heart felt like it was being torn every which way with no sense of direction. After a long moment, he turned shook his head taking in a deep breath. "I apologize," said Eragon unable to look at Elvina in the eyes. "I am not feeling myself lately."

"Clearly," murmured Elvina, she remained quiet as if she was struggling hard for words—as if she did not know how to comfort another person. After a long moment, she spoke. "What is it that is bothering if you do not mind my asking?"

His eyes darted to rest on her for a moment as he thought of her question. Her tone was not patronizing as he thought it would be but instead she sounded genuinely concerned for him. He stared at her for a moment watching as her fair skin took on a slightly flushed appearance but her eyes did not waver as they held his.

He turned away from Elvina after a moment not wanting her to feel uncomfortable by his piercing gaze. When she did not leave but let her question settle between them, he closed his eyes. There was no one for him to confide in. Angela understood where he was from but she was too eccentric, to abnormal and bubbly to understand what it was that he felt, and everyone else was under the impression that he was Eragon, the elf that was strong and intelligent, always willing and ready. No one understood him truly. Not even Arya no matter how much he wished she did. There was no Saphira here for him to turn to when he needed to lay out his heart's hurts for her to heal. There was no Arya who would turn away from her duties so that she could comfort him when he needed it.

"Have you ever thought about what it is that you are doing with your life?" asked Eragon quietly.

"Often enough," Elvina responded, her voice just as gentle. "Are you not satisfied with life?"

"When is one ever satisfied with what they have?" questioned Eragon rhetorically. He frowned as he surveyed the stone trees unsure of where to start—of what to say. How could Elvina even begin to understand what it was that he was going through? His entire life here was a lie. What others saw him out to be was a lie, an imperfect perfection created so that he could live through history and try to salvage Alagaësia from the remnants of war that would soon sweep across its lands. After a long moment, he spoke again. "Do you have any regrets, Elvina?"

"Regrets?" she repeated quietly, her blue eyes taking on an odd shine.

Eragon nodded. "I regret," he said quietly. "There are too many regrets that I have in my life, regrets and unfulfilled promises."

"I am a vain person, Eragon," said Elvina, he fought the urge to snort at her words. If he did she would only vehemently respond and his attempts at trying to speak about his feelings would be at a loss. Instead he waited for her to speak. "I always think about myself and in the process I suppose I've lost sight of who I was and what I was becoming. When I look back on my life I wonder where it was that I had changed. I certainly was not born this way and yet here I am. And then I met you."

He tensed, his head turning to hers as she spoke and he blinked when he saw that Elvina was smiling at him, not in her belittling manner or her mocking way but a genuine smile that surprised him. He raised a brow. Ever since they had met and Elvina had taken up to chasing after her interests with him, the two of them ended up in either arguments, circular banters, or just icy remarks. Nowhere did he see where their interactions would be touching to Elvina.

"You were always so giving even though you have an overly rude nature, tend to do everything by yourself, and you always hold a rather demeaning aura about you," said Elvina, a smirk forming her face. He inwardly scoffed. It was too much to ask for a nice compliment from the woman it seemed. Apparently for every piece of praise that Elvina awarded, she had to balance it with a thousand insults. "You never asked for anything and even though you hate to wake early in the morning and doing what you do, you still go about carrying out your tasks. Someone like you can be anywhere he wanted to be, can do anything he wished…and yet, you are here…Why is that?"

"Rather here than living underneath Galbatorix," said Eragon with a dark expression. She nodded in understanding and for a moment she appeared hesitant as if something about the topic of Galbatorix troubled her but she did not say anything more.

"Seeing you work endlessly…well, it makes me think that perhaps my life wasn't really what I thought it out to be," murmured Elvina, studying her fingers which were rather clean and rounded, the nail beds gleaming as if she had used oil to polish the surface. He blinked. There was something at her fingernails that seemed oddly familiar to him. Unable to place it he lifted his eyes to her feeling the need to say something to her after she had spoken her feelings to him honestly for the first time.

"Looking back on my own life," murmured Eragon quietly, "I sometimes feel as if I am not really there. Who is this person called Eragon? Who am I? Am I merely a part of the Varden? Or perhaps more? You say that I am a great mystery to you but oftentimes I wonder if I even know myself. Or if I understand who it is that I am becoming." He wanted to say more but found himself unable to. The words he was searching for didn't come to him and instead he fell quiet, turning his head so that he could stare out at the stone forest. _My indecisiveness no doubt amuses her, _thought Eragon as he clenched his hands together, breathing deeply.

He sat there silently waiting for her to pass her judgment. He waited for her mocking voice to speak and laugh at him or for her to snort at his words. She did neither. Instead, he felt a shock ripple through his body when he felt a small and lightly cold hand touch his clenched ones, tugging his fingers apart until the hand could slid in between his, curling about his own to hold. Almost immediately he wanted to tear his hands from her. It felt wrong and his body ached for hands that were small and warm—hands that belonged to Arya.

Her hand tightened around his and he was forced to look at her. She shifted closer to him and her breath caressed his face as she spoke, her expression filled with some sort of emotion that he had never seen on her face before. "Seeing you so indecisive is unbecoming," murmured Elvina, her blue eyes dark and piercing as she held his gaze.

He wanted to rip himself free but the grip that Elvina held his hands in made him freeze and her expression held him in place. Despite their closeness, his heart did not stutter, his brain was not addled, and his skin did not warm. Only Arya had been able to extract those types of reactions from him. No one else, not even someone as beautiful as Elvina. He took a tentative breath and instantly, Elvina's scent—spicy and yet soothing, like the smell of cinnamon washed over his senses.

"You are more attractive when you are sure of yourself," murmured Elvina. He felt her nose slide against his and suddenly Vrangr felt hot on his back and his heart clenched painfully, an image of Arya flashing in his mind. Collecting himself, he fought to gather his senses.

"I will take stock in what you say," said Eragon dryly as he turned away from Elvina watching as a deep flash of hurt crossed her face before it was gone and her cool and indifferent expression had returned. A moment passed between them and after another squeeze of his hand, she withdrew her own. He wanted to apologize to her and tell her that his heart belonged elsewhere and that it would forever remain loyal to one person alone. But he couldn't bring himself to do so least Elvina would know his true feelings.

All he could say were two words and they left his lips sincere and grateful, "Thank you, Elvina."

She did not say anything but merely nodded, a sharp motion of her head. In that one moment, he felt as if he understood Elvina a little more and perhaps she understand him just as well. The thought came to him a little later as they sat there in comfortable silence but he had found a friend in Elvina just as she had found one in him.

But the burdens that he carried still weighed heavily on his shoulders and they pressed down on him as he sat there taking in the stone trees and never changing scenery as time passed the both of them by.

**Well, then Deynor is the next leader as he was in canon. I didn't want to miss a chance to explore Deynor's character so I kept to him. In any case, the bigger problem to contend with is Elvina. Her character would be understood soon enough I suppose. Since Eragon and Arya are bonding really well, we can't have Elvina losing to Arya can we? **Hehehe...What** will happen next? In any case, I'm just trying to explore every opportunity possible. Also, my backpacking trip starts after my research is finished so not for some time now. I'll give you all a heads up. In any case, I hope to see you all soon! And remember, message me if you see any typos!**


	26. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

**Been too tired lately for some reason and I keep getting these migraines that knock me out for hours on end. So as a result I wasn't really feeling up to writing but then I felt better today so I thought I would crank something out. So when you are reading this chapter be aware that there is a decade jump here. I'm just moving things along so hopefully it doesn't seem too chaotic. In any case, have fun reading everyone. R&R.**

"Arya," Gasping slightly at the pain in his right leg, he crawled forward towards her location. Above them, he could hear several loud roars. There was another explosion that threw him against the ground. In the midst of the debris, he launched forward letting the dirt and rocks rain down on him. Because the terrain was vast and out in the open, it made it all the harder for him to try and avoid any sort of direct conflict with the two Dragon Riders chasing them: Kialandí and Vinos.

Running forward, he caught sight of her hunched over on the ground clutching at her side. Despite her injury, her emerald green eyes were bright and they were ablaze with emotion. Dodging another swept from the air, he slid on the ground until he was on one knee beside Arya. She was injured from her fighting with Kialandí. Though Arya was strong, she had only been part of the Varden for twenty years and her strength could not match that of a Forsworn's.

"Let me see the wound, Arya," though he wanted to be tender with her, they were still a few miles away from the fringe of Du Weldenvarden and the possibility of lingering out in the open was not a choice for them. She winced slightly but shifted towards him, removing her hand to show him the gash in her left side which was bleeding profusely. He wanted to curse but leaned forward to further inspect it.

The flesh didn't seem that it was only pierced but there was something else to it. There was a slight purple tinge to her wound that made him cautious. He narrowed his eyes slightly to take in the wound, his vision becoming tinted red at the sight of Arya's blood flowing freely. "It will not heal," murmured Arya as she returned her hand to her side to stem the flow of blood.

_Poison._

Without another moment's hesitation, he ripped off his cloak from his shoulder before moving to wrap it about her waist careful to not put a great deal of pressure on her side but enough to keep the blood at bay. "Head to Du Weldenvarden," Eragon ordered her. He saw a flash of protest in her eyes and knew that she was going to draw herself up to argue against him. But he pressed on. "You are injured Arya and you've been poisoned. If you keep fighting you will wear yourself down."

"And what about you?" asked Arya but he could tell that she was losing the will to argue against him because of her injury.

"Do not worry," his expression was determined. "I said that I would not die easily and I shall show you that I do not lie, Arya." Her emerald eyes seemed to flicker with hesitation, Eragon blinked when he heard Vinos' taunting voice from above. He turned back to Arya, gripping her upper arms. "Trust me, Arya."

Still holding her side, she nodded moving to her feet. "I'll be waiting for you."

For some unknown reason, her words touched him like a caress on his soul. He could only stare at her as she retreated towards Du Weldenvarden, her words ringing in his ears. She would be waiting for him. It almost sounded what one would say to a mate or a husband. Watching as her form began to grow smaller in his line of sight, he shook himself turning back to the task at hand. Vinos and Kialandí had ambushed them while they were making their way to Du Weldenvarden. How they knew he did not know but he knew for a fact that there wasn't a single spy in the midst of the Varden unless he had overlooked someone.

"I will make certain that you die today you meddlesome fool," he jumped back as Kialandí easily flipped himself over his purple dragon, falling ten meters through the air before landing lightly on the balls of his feet his sword drawn. He stared at the elf, noticing the red blood stains on his sword. Rage immediately overtook him. Coating the purple blade was Arya's blood.

Unsheathing Vrangr and Brisingr, he lifted his head to send Kialandí a frown. "What is it now? I had thought with the death of two of your companions at Brom's doing you would have learned your lesson."

Three years ago, two of the Forsworn both humans by the name of Dynet and Cerci were killed by Brom and his planning. He had used the power struggle between the Forsworn for his own ends and had taken care of the two of them. Now only seven of the thirteen remained. Their numbers were beginning to die out.

"There is nothing for me to fear from a Rider without a dragon," said Kialandí with a scoff. His eyes narrowed as he took in Eragon by himself. "I see it that your companion has left you. Do you believe yourself capable of defeating one such as me?"

"I did once," said Eragon bringing up the time when he had caused Kialandí to become impaled on his dragon once more years earlier. He tightened his grip on Brisingr. "And I have no doubt that Galbatorix was displeased with you and your failures Kialandí."

"Which is why I am bringing him your body as an apology," Kialandí raised his hand and shouted causing a shower of violet sparks to rain down on him. When one collided with his arm, Eragon winced. His skin burned and a raw red scorch mark appeared. Knowing that it wouldn't bode well for him to stay on the ground, Eragon started forward.

He didn't head for Kialandí but rather for his dragon.

The purple dragon remained on the ground intently watching them in case Kialandí needed his help. Having overlooked their dragons in his earlier encounters with them, he'd decided that it was a time to change tactics. If the dragons were going to be a part of their battles, than it would make everything significantly easier if he used their dragons against them.

As he neared the purple dragon, the creature bellowed at him trying to bathe him in a river of orange flames tinged violet. Ducking, he felt a sense of satisfaction when he saw Kialandí receive the torrent of flames instead. Had it not been for his wards, the elf would have been burnt to ashes.

"Kialandí!" Vinos shouted from above them. "I shall go see if I can find his elf companion." There were two loud claps as well as a torrent of air bearing down on them before Vinos and his dragon flew off towards the direction of Du Weldenvarden. Trusting that Arya would be able to take care of herself and escape within the forest of her people, he turned his attention back to Kialandí, shuffling about as to avoid being stomped to death by his dragon.

_Come on, _thought Eragon as he shifted and shuffled about the purple dragon trying his best to remain beneath it. Just as he thought he would, Kialandí shifted forward on his feet and lunged for Eragon easily covering the yards between them. Knowing that what he was going to do was necessary, Eragon took in a deep breath before slashing Vrangr to his side, cutting a deep gash into the purple dragon.

A large drop of red blood fell to the grass followed by two loud roars, one louder than the other. While the purple dragon roared in pain, Kialandí was blindsided with anger. Allowing the violet Rider's sword to slide past him, he turned and slammed his elbow down into the crook of his arm. Without breaking in motion, he brought up the pommel of Vrangr and slammed it into Kialandí's chest once, twice, three times until he heard several ribs crack.

He heard a roar behind him followed by the sound of something heavy whipping through the air. Still keeping his grip on Kialandí, he ducked. He'd learned after several years not to solely focus his attentions on only the Rider but also on the dragon as well seeing as it could be a dangerous opponent on the battle field.

"I see Galbatorix has decided that you are no longer worthy of his Eldunarí," said Eragon as he straightened blocking a swipe to the side. He threw the violet sword off and kneed Kialandí in the stomach, turning in time to swipe at his violet dragon's underbelly.

It let forth a rumbling roar of pain that ended on a whimper as it began to stumble, bleeding from its most sensitive area. A hand came out and slammed into his face causing his head to turn to the side abruptly. Blinking, he turned to avoid another enraged attack as Kialandí snarled at him.

"I will kill you!" Kialandí swore.

"Not if I kill your first," and with that, he slammed his head against the elf's watching as he stumbled. When he raised his arm, Eragon brought up Brisingr and sliced his arm off from the elbow watching as the limb fell to the ground still clutching the violet sword. Howling in pain, Kialandí stumbled and his dragon angered made to snap at Eragon but he easily dodge slicing the violet dragon in the jaw.

Clutching at his stump of an arm, Kialandí glared at him his face rapidly becoming white and pasty. "Even if you kill me, you cannot escape," he said, breathing heavily with blood spilling from his lips. "Galbatorix will never let one who knows his secrets go freely. You will be hunted for the rest of your life whether it is tomorrow, the day next, weeks, or years. You cannot escape us."

"I do not plan to," said Eragon as he flourished Brisingr. He stared down at the elf who had fallen to his knees unable to continue standing. "It will make my deeds all the more easier if fools like you come running to me."

"So confident…" Kialandí scoffed weakly. "I suppose this is vengeance."

"It has been long overdue," said Eragon as he held Brisingr before Kialandí. Then without another word, he stabbed the elf right through his heart watching as he went slump on the blue blade of Brisingr. Pulling back, he jumped back flipping onto his feet as he dragon let out a torrent of flames, angered and full of sorrow.

Bending his knees, he stared at the enraged creature watching is it bled out from three different areas on its body. "Sorry," muttered Eragon as he launched forward. Running in a random, zigzag pattern he easily dodged swipes of claws and tails and then when he was within the last few yards, he jumped up. Sheathing Vrangr in one fluid motion, he turned and circling through the air stabbed the dragon directly in its skull. There was a sickening crunch as Brisingr went through flesh and bone alike before stopping at the hilt, the blade buried deep with the dragon's head.

The violet dragon let out a bellowing roar of utter pain, thrashing violently before laying still, slumping to the ground. Breathing heavily, he glanced at the blood that freely flowed from the wound that he inflicted upon the dragon before drawing Brisingr out. There was a wet squelch and a fine spray of blood coated his front torso and arms, burning as it landed on his skin.

Jumping onto the ground, he took a moment to look at the fallen dragon and then Kialandí who laid a few feet away, his right arm missing from the elbow down. He took a moment to study the elf whose eyes were open and devoid of life. He had not killed him years earlier when he had impaled him on the spikes of his purple dragon but he did now.

"That was for Oromis," said Eragon as he walked over to the fallen arm. Nudging the limb away, he bent down as he sheathed Brisingr to grip the violet sword. Staring at the glyph on the blade, he frowned. _Andlát._

Death.

_What a fitting name for a sword of a Forsworn_, thought Eragon grimly as he stared at the blood that stained the blade. It was Arya's blood. Careful not to touch the edge since the blade was coated in poison from what he had learned from Arya's wound, he bent down to retrieve the scabbard from Kialandí to sheathe the blade.

He was about to leave when something caught his eye. Protruding from the inside of Kialandí's tunic was a neatly folded missive. Reaching down to take it in hand, he stared at it for a moment before a faint roar off in the distance caught his attention. _Arya!_

Tucking the missive away, he hurried in the direction of the sound. Had she safely made it inside the fringe of Du Weldenvarden? Though the fringe was relatively much weaker than the inner sanctum of the forest, he could only hope that the Forsworn was tentative about harming the forest due to the fact that the elves resided within the domain of the lush trees.

Careful not to put too much weight onto his right leg in which the pain was now burning with a vengeance, he hurried forward. Arya's magic had been trying to heal the wound but it was rather deep with some muscle torn. He would have to heal it himself once he found Arya.

Not breaking in stride, he glanced up to find Vinos and his dragon turning away from Du Weldenvarden. Not bothering to chase them since he had already dealt with one Forsworn for the day, he continued forward. In any case, when Vinos saw that Kialandí was dead either he would show some gratitude to Eragon for laying waste to an opponent for Galbatorix's favors or avenge his comrade. Eragon had no doubt that it would be the former. Staring at their shrinking form in the sky as they headed west, he continued to push himself until he reached the fringe of Du Weldenvarden. It seemed as if Vinos was too cowardly to dare and attack the forest.

"Arya?"

There was no reply. Inwardly cursing to himself, he neared the young pines trying to find a clue as to where Arya was. _What if she'd succumbed to the poison? _Fear, chilling and rapid ran through him at the thought of her lying helpless on the ground without an antidote or a way to heal her wound. Turning on the spot, his eyes searching he blinked when he caught sight of a small drop of crimson on the grass. Hurrying to it, Eragon blinked taking in the rather faint trail of blood that led into the forest.

"Arya…" her name left him in a strangled breath. Not having time to think of anything else, he hurried in the direction of the trail. Brushing branch after branch from his way, and jumping over root after root, he continued to run wondering how far Arya had managed to get despite being injured. Hurrying past a young pine tree, he would have continued had he not caught sight of a doe so far away from its bed. Pausing for a moment, Eragon blinked turning his head.

There on the forest ground was Arya. She was curled in on herself, her skin extremely pale and sweat forming on her face. From where he stood away from her, he could hear her shallow breaths. The doe was bent over her, sensing that she was not a danger and seemed to offer her company. Approaching, Eragon said to the doe, "_Eitha."_

Turning its head to stare at him, the doe lingered for a moment before heeding his command. Turning, it gracefully bounded away deeper into the forest.

Placing Andlát on the ground, he reached down to take Arya's arm, "Arya," trying to lift her up, he paused when her brow knitted to show her discomfort. Hating that he was hurting her, he took in a deep breath and spoke to her in a low, reassuring voice. "Arya, let me see the wound."

Her eyelids fluttered opened and she turned her head towards him showing him clearly how much pain she was in. If he hadn't already killed Kialandí he would not mind disemboweling him for what he did to Arya. Despite her obvious pain, there was a hint of relief in her expression at the sight of him well and relatively whole apart from his injured right leg which was wrapped in vein-like tendrils of green magic.

"You came," said Arya softly as she stretched her body out so that he could unwrap his cloak from her. He blinked at the red blood that stained his hand and felt his heart freeze at how unnaturally pale she was. Was this the same poison that Ra'zac used? Was this Seithr oil?

He removed her hand which seemed to clutch instinctively at her wound. It was stained red and unable to bring himself to let go, he clutched her hand in his hoping that his hand did not shake. "Like I promised I did," said Eragon as he shifted the torn part of her leather top to the side to show him her wound in greater detail.

If anything her wound had gotten worst. The poison seemed to have seeped into her body and was no doubt running through her veins. His expression must have been something for Arya blinked up at him, her lips twitching slightly. "This is the first time I've seen you so…responsive."

"Responsive?" he reached for his cloak trying to find a part of it that was not soaked through with her blood. The upper half was still dry. With ease, he ripped it cleanly into strips before turning his attention back to Arya.

"Perhaps responsive is not the correct word," she agreed watching as he began to dig a small hole in the ground.

He nodded glancing at her before turning his eyes back onto the hole he had dug with his fingers. It appeared to be a decent size. "_Reisa du adurna," _instantly, the small hole in the ground began to fill with water. He turned back to Arya, still holding one of her small hands in his, "This will sting Arya but only for a little while. I am no healer but I need to see if I can clean the wound if only slightly."

He grabbed a strip of what used to be his cloak and soaked it in the cool water. Then pausing slightly, he took in a deep breath and pressed the cloth to her wound. Instantly he saw her flinch and her muscles jerk slightly. Then with great care, he began to gently clean her wound trying to draw away some of the poison that was still clinging to the open flesh. Her lips were pursed, brows knitted, and her hand clamped his but otherwise she did not vocalize her hurt which made him rather proud.

"I will carry you to Ília Fëon, Arya," he said as he wrapped the remaining strips of cloth over her wound once more. "It is not far from here and there are expert healers who can address your wound much better than I."

She nodded her eyes closing as a short breath left her. Taking Andlát in one hand, he bent down slid that arm underneath her knees before with his other slipped it underneath her back. Then as gently as he could, he lifted her up standing as he did so. "If I jostle you I will like to apologize in advance," murmured Eragon glancing down at her in his arms. She nodded once more but did not say anymore.

Aligning himself in the northern direction, he took one step forward before breaking out into a run. Careful of roots, he made sure to jump over them whenever they littered the ground before him so that he would not trip with Arya in his arms. And whenever branches were low enough that they covered his way, he merely tucked Arya in his arms and turned to his side running through the branches so that they scraped at his arms and back but never at his front where he cradled Arya.

All the while as he ran, Arya did not show many signs of discomfort except for a gasp when he landed particularly hard on his feet after sailing over ten feet of thick roots to which he instantly apologized for. As he ran, he tried to comfort Arya. Eragon had never been rather apt at comforting others apart from those close to him. He knew how to comfort Saphira because he understood her. The same held for Arya only his way of comforting Arya usually differed greatly from how he would comfort Saphira. Most of the time, he could give her physical comfort through their bond.

Instead, he tried to talk to her and find a means to comfort her in this way. Useless babble just seemed to tumble from his lips as he tried to think of a way to ease Arya's pain even if he couldn't do so physically. If he could perhaps distract her from it maybe that would be better. But the more he talked, the more he sounded rather pathetic to his own ears and he had a fleeting thought of Angela laughing at him and his attempt to reach out and comfort another person.

Surprisingly Arya did not seem to mind his mindless one-sided conversation. His words and pointless stories had filled the silence and fifteen minutes later when he found himself standing in the city of Ília Fëon he found himself slightly out of breath at his constant talking and running.

"What has happened?" an elf maiden ran towards him, her expression one of alarm as she took in Arya who was pale and shivering slightly in his arms. Her eyes darted to Arya and then her expression grew even more alarmed. "Arya Dröttningu!"

"We were ambushed traveling to Du Weldenvarden," said Eragon as more elves swarmed to their location to see their injured princess, their expressions one of pure rage. "Arya was injured and poisoned. She needs medical attention."

"Give her to us," one of the female elves held her arms out for Arya. He did so but the moment he placed Arya in her arms, a weak hand gripped his wrist as if to tug him with her. He glanced down at Arya and smiled at her reassuringly.

"You are in good hands Arya," said Eragon as he reached down to remove her hand. "I will be waiting for you this time it seems." He squeezed her hand gently as he released it. Then without wasting another moment, Arya was carried away the elves following her. He could tell from their hurried movements that they were in a panic after seeing their princess in such a weak state. No doubt a report was going to be sent to Evandar soon. He inwardly sighed. He had promised to watch after Arya for Evandar and yet she was injured because she was traveling with him.

His Arya had never been attacked directly by the Forsworn. But because he existed in this timeline, his actions also affected Arya because of her friendship with him. Had she not been with him, she would have never been attacked in the first place. _I suppose my presence does hold great weight in this history, _thought Eragon as he found a log out of the way to sit down on. As he did so, he turned to the injury on his right leg. There was a gash in his calve and blood trickled from it but not enough to be life threatening.

Reaching down, he touched his right calve with his right hand. "_Waíse heil."_

The skin seemed to glow for a moment with sapphire magic before coming together. When the light of his magic faded, he turned to glance at the newly healed skin. The pain from earlier was gone to be replaced with a cool feeling of intense relief. Taking this moment to catch his breath, he was about to get up and head in the direction where Arya was carried off to before he felt the missive from earlier in his pocket.

Pulling it out, he stared at the folded parchment. Curious, he opened it to find himself staring at elegant lines that composed the glyphs of the ancient language.

_Kialandí,_

_Do not presume to order me about as you wish. If my memory serves me correct, you are the only fool amongst us. There is the blindsided Darius who is only out to seek blood but you are the only one of us that has managed to fail Galbatorix. Therefore I do not see where it is that you have such brazen audacity to order me to tell you what I have been pursuing these past years. You enjoy your time hoarding wealth and power and no one is the wiser to tell you the many more useful applications you can apply yourself to._

_Even Enduriel has more intelligence to not question another when he is clearly the most permissive out of the thirteen of us. Perhaps you should visit his estate and learn a thing or two from him. In any case, I have no reason to divulge to you what I have been doing all these years. Galbatorix does not question me and neither should you. Or rather, you do not have the authority to do so. However, since you have been becoming a thorn in my side as of late then I shall tell you one thing._

_I find it more enjoyable to play games not with wealth nor power but rather with appearances. You would be surprised with how much I have learned. Had you not been wasting away on your estate you would find for yourself how vast Alagaësia is._

_With that said, I hope this letter finds you well or in ill health. I do not care. Let one message be clear to you, Kialandí. Do not bother me again. I shall not be as forgiving next. As long as Galbatorix does not question me or my loyalty then there is nothing for someone like you to worry over. Let us part on this one piece of advice, hoarding too many pleasures of life will leave you with nothing in the end._

_Formora_

He stared at the missive in slight surprise. Though he knew of the history behind Formora and Kialandí and how they had tricked and betrayed Oromis, he did not think that Formora would be so venomous to her fellow Forsworn. Blinking at the missive, he reread it again. The tone of the letter struck a chord of remembrance within him. Formora was sarcastic, condescending, and mocking.

Strangely she reminded him of Elvina.

Rereading the missive once more he mind kept repeating the last paragraph. What was it that Formora meant about playing with appearances? What appearances? Trying to contemplate the vague missive, he sighed. Now was not the time to worry over a letter of correspondence between the Forsworn. He had to worry about Arya's wellbeing. Standing up from the log, he made his way in the direction where Arya was carried off with Andlát clutched tightly in his hands.

It did not take long for him to find the house sung from tree where Arya was being treated. One of the guards told him that he had to wait until Arya was healed and well enough to have visitors to which he accepted. She was the princess after all. Instead, he merely leaned against a tree waiting to hear news of Arya's condition.

Soon enough night fell and the flameless lanterns were the main source of light but Eragon refused to sleep until he knew for certain that Arya was on the road to recovery. He waited through the night and most of the morning. It wasn't until the crack of dawn did the elf woman who had taken Arya from him earlier appeared from the house. Straightening and unfolding his arms, he made his way to her.

"How is she?" asked Eragon the moment he stopped before the elf.

"She is healing. We gave her the antidote for the poison and healed her wound," she answered before thanking him softly. "You have done us a great deed today by saving Arya Dröttningu."

"May I see her?" asked Eragon hoping that she would not deny him. The elf woman thought for a moment before she nodded. She turned to the guards saying softly to them that Eragon was a permissible visitor. Thanking her, he pushed the door to the house open, closing it softly behind him.

It was two stories with the lower story comprised of a kitchen and a living room. Ascending the spiral wooden staircase, he pushed the wooden door open at the top and emerged into a spacious bedroom. Letting the door close behind him, he took in the circular bedroom, his eyes falling on the bed and the figure lying on it.

As quiet as he could, he made his way over to her bedside to look down at her figure. She was regaining color in her skin. Instead of the pale white, it was returning to its normal honeyed appearance. Her expression was placid and unfettered and she looked truly at peace. Shifting on his feet slightly, he glanced at the space beside her wishing he could just crawl onto the bed and fall asleep with her lithe body cradled by his side.

That was a privilege from another lifetime.

"How odd," murmured Eragon as he stared down at Arya's sleeping form. "Twenty years has passed us by so quickly since you've joined the Varden." _In thirty more years, would Fäolin have the courage to join you in your travels, Arya? _He dared not say that aloud for he did not want anyone questioning his sudden train of thoughts.

Glancing at Arya once more, he reached down hesitantly and brushed a strand of her hair from her face, his hand gently curving about her cheek. Feeling her warm skin against him put him at ease. _She was going to be fine, _thought Eragon relieved. Holding his hand there for a moment, he gently rubbed the pad of his thumb across her high cheekbone.

"I will be waiting for you, Arya," murmured Eragon watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. The healers must have given her a potion to induce her into such a deep sleep. Normally Arya was a very light sleeper. "But when will you come for me I wonder?"

Staring at her for a moment longer, he retracted his hand and pulled up a chair to sit alongside her bedside. There was nothing he could do but watch her.

And that was all he did, all he had been doing, and perhaps all he will be doing when it came to Arya for he could not act on his feeling not when he led such a false life. Not when there were so many questions that he still needed the answers to.

_Until then, I'm not worthy._

Leaning back in his seat, he sighed softly as he watched Arya dutifully remaining by her side.

**Just an ExA moment. Seeing how Arya has been lonely in her seventy years of travel originally, I just wanted to emphasize the importance of Eragon's presence to her without showing it in her POV (which I'm still deciding on). This is just one of those moments that have been changed due to Eragon coming back in time. In any case, I feel like there is so little ExA to spare here for some reason, or is it just me? I'll try to update quicker but if I get sick again or end up napping ridiculous hours because of migraines, I'll like to apologize before hand. Thanks for reading! I hope to see you all soon!**

**P.S. If there are any errors please feel free to PM me and I shall go back and fix them! ****Thank you!**


	27. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

**I'm sorry for the rather slow update speed on this chapter but I've been busy and tired and then stressed all in one. I swear, November is like the worst month, any one agree? (Well, I can't really say that since I got my PS4 this month which makes it a good month but still!) In any case, I just didn't feel up to writing this chapter but I've been slowly working on it for the past few days and I decided to update today. (If there are any errors/mistakes please PM and I'll have it fixed ASAP!). As for this chapter, it's just a filler chapter branching off from the last chapter and there will be another chapter and then a time jump once more. In any case, have fun reading! R&R!**

Careful to avoid the thick roots that protruded from the ground as well as the low branches, his eyes darted to Arya's back. It had been two days since she was fully healed from the attack from Kialandí. The healers had gave her the antidote for the poison and had tended to the flesh wound. It had been foolish of him to think that she would be bed ridden for a few days. She was stronger than the normal human and even if she was not the strong willed and battle hardened Arya that he knew in his original time, she was still stronger than even the strongest of humans. A cut to the side wouldn't kill Arya.

_I shouldn't think of her as a damsel in distress, _Eragon told himself with a frown as he followed behind her lithe figure. She walked about the roots as if she were dancing. Each step she took looked natural and at ease, as if she knew where to place her feet without having the need to use her eyes. _If anything, she'll feel offended._

The two of them continued to travel in silent companionship. There was no need for words really. They had each other and that alone was enough to fill the voice with something more meaningful than what could be said by word of mouth. As the trunks of the trees grew larger, he knew that they were nearing the heart of Du Weldenvarden. Allowed passage from Gilderien the Wise, the two of them continued into the capital of the forest, Ellesméra.

It was as he had remembered it. Over the many years, he'd spent only a few handful of days returning to Ellesméra and each time he returned the forest was always the same. It was as it always had been, isolated and disconnected from time. "We need to report to King Evandar," said Arya as they passed down the path of flowers, the many different colors blending in with one another with subtleness.

"Yes," agreed Eragon with a nod allowing her to lead the way. She nodded to him and led him deeper into the heart of Ellesméra where Tialdarí Hall laid in waiting. Best that he knew, Arya was still allowed to remain within her quarters despite Islanzadí's proclamation that she would not see her daughter unless she seeks her forgiveness for ignoring her counsel. He had heard that King Evandar did not want to deny his daughter her right as a member of his house and the only successor to the knotted throne. Yes, she may have been banished from her mother's presence but she was not going to be exiled from her home.

Having her father to support her was enough to great a change in the Arya he knew and the Arya before him. The Arya in his original timeline was aloof and withdrawn, sometimes unable to act on her emotions because she felt that in the folds of the world they meant little to nothing. Despite her strength, knowledge, and wisdom there was always a touch of insecurity in Arya, one that was created by her lack of a father growing up, and her mother's lack of presence in her life. When he thought about it, it seemed only natural that Arya would have trouble depending on others. The lack of support she had combined with her isolation during the seventy years that she'd spent as ambassador to her people had created walls between her and the outside world.

The Arya before him, however, was unlike the other. She was strong willed, knowledgeable, and certain of her own will but she was not isolated, cold, and uncaring. She was willing to accept help when she needed it. She was compassionate and caring. It was odd to think that several changes could have such a great effect on one's personality and growth. But it did. With Evandar's support, she was unafraid to challenge what laid before her. He also hoped that his friendship with Arya meant as much to her as it did to him. _Was his presence enough to hold any great significance to Arya's life?_

It was a thought to contend with.

"He is in his study, Arya Dröttningu," an elf from the common lobby answered Arya's question that she had asked in passing. She nodded and gestured for Eragon to follow her deeper into the heart of the compound where her family resided in private chambers, guarded from the outside with wards and magic. Passing underneath a doorway of twisted branches, Eragon's eyes darted towards Arya noting how relaxed she appeared and how her eyes seemed to sparkle in anticipation.

She was no doubt excited to see her father once more after such a long period of time of having gone without seeing him.

If there was one characteristic that remained unchanged about Arya through time, it was her willingness to dedicate her entire being to her duty. She was selfless, always placing the need of the greater good before her own. She had never been one to self-indulge and even now, she didn't. It was just one more reason as to why he was proud of her.

Arriving to the door to Evandar's study, Arya gently knocked addressing her father, "Evandar Könungr." Her voice was soft but he knew that it carried through the wood and that Evandar would hear it as if he was standing right beside her.

There was a moment of silence before his own voice reverberated through the wood. "Enter." Stepping back to allow Arya to enter before him, he trailed in second making sure to close the door behind him. He turned his head, watching as Evandar moved to his feet. Like his title, he wore the finest clothes befit a monarch. The knotted crown sat upon his head and a fine, thin blade hung at his waist.

"Evandar Könungr," Arya moved to greet him but he would have none of that. He stood and swiftly made his way about the desk in the center of his study to stand before his daughter. His expression was stern but there, shining in his gray eyes was paramount worry.

"I heard word that you were injured," said Evandar, his eyes traveling his daughter's form to make sure that she was in one piece. _Perhaps that's the difference, _thought Eragon as he turned his head to give them a moment's privacy. _There is another person to worry about Arya…one that she cares about. _"They say that you crossed paths with two of the Forsworn."

"Yes," Arya's voice was a low murmur and he had a distinct feeling that she did not want him to listen in on her conversation with her father any more than he did himself. He contemplated leaving for a moment but it just seemed too sudden that it might even make the situation even more awkward. But a part of him was curious as to how Arya would react in her father's presence. From the small glimpse that he'd managed to see, she was more affectionate towards Evandar than Islanzadí, which was understandable given their current circumstances.

"How are you feeling?" asked Evandar, his hand reaching forward to take his daughter's hand, folding his other atop of it. For a brief moment a look of relief and fatherly adoration flashed in Evandar's eyes as Arya's lips twitched into a small smile.

"I am fine, father," Arya reassured him. Eragon turned his body slightly so that his back was now mostly to their reunion. Hopefully, his lack of seeing would give Arya the courage to say what she wanted to say to Evandar. After all, she rarely had the chance to her father. _What is my father doing? _The thought of Brom crossed his mind and he felt his lips thin. Brom was still devoted to trying to bring down the fall of the Forsworn and it seemed as if he was not going to be deterred.

"That is good news," said Evandar. "Still, I do not believe my worries are for naught. When I learned word that you were being tended to for poison, I could hardly sleep. To think that my daughter would be fighting while I am doing naught."

"Not naught, you are our king," said Arya gently and he knew without even looking that her expression was soft and yet unyielding. "It is not a title that comes easily, father. The people look up to you while I…" She trailed off her thoughts left unspoken.

_While you what, Arya? _Eragon asked quietly.

It was during times like these when he thought that she reminded him of an Arya from a different time—hesitant and unwilling to speak all of her thoughts. He heard a soft sigh before Evandar said something so softly that his ears hard trouble picking up.

"Have made me proud and continue to make me proud," For a brief moment, Eragon felt a great sense of gratitude towards the king. He was the only one who could speak to Arya without boundaries and be unafraid of how she would react. There was a moment of silence and then the shifting of feet. Taking this as a sign that their father-daughter reunion was done, Eragon dared to turn back to face them.

Evandar was pulling away from the embrace that he shared with his daughter and turned to Eragon with a welcome expression. Remembering what was required of him, he greeted the king first, touching his lips with his two fingers before twisting his hand over his sternum. Carrying out the traditional greeting, he tilted his head to the king. "Evandar Könungr," said Eragon respectfully.

"It has been long since I have last seen you," said Evandar, his eyes darting to the purple blade that Eragon carried in his hand. "It appears that you have cut down another enemy in your path. You have done much since last you have stepped in these halls," he gestured to Andlát. "May I?"

Eragon nodded and handed the blade to Evandar. The king took the sword in hand, studying the scabbard before unsheathing the blade with a flourish of his arm. Though Evandar had not fought in a battle for decades, the way in which he handled Andlát with the skill of a master swordsman. "Andlát," murmured Evandar, his gray eyes narrowing slightly. "The blade of the traitor Kialandí."

"He is no more," said Eragon with a hard expression. Evandar's eyes flickered over to him. He held the elf king's gaze. As if searching for something, Evandar nodded after a moment as if he had found what it was that he was searching for. He sheathed Andlát and returned the blade to Eragon.

"I take it that you will return the sword to Rhunön," assumed Evandar.

Eragon nodded. "I see no other better person to hold onto such blades of destruction." His hand tightened on Andlát. The king studied him for a moment before motioning for Eragon and Arya to take a seat. Like the last time he'd been in Evandar's study, roots came forward from the ground to form seats for them. He took a seat beside Arya cautiously risking a glance at her out of the corner of his eyes. He wouldn't say that she looked happy but her expression spoke of her feelings well enough. She was no doubt glad to be back in Ellesméra even if it was only for a short amount of time.

"Yes, it will greatly put her guilt at ease," said Evandar as he took his seat in his high backed armchair. He studied Arya and Eragon for a moment, his eyes moving to settle on his elven ambassador. "How goes your time at the Varden, Arya?"

Whether he was asking as a father or as a monarch, Eragon did not know but Arya seemed to interpret the question as a monarch would ask of his ambassador. She produced a scroll from her pack and began to tell Evandar in detail about the time she'd spent with the Varden since she'd last left Ellesméra until now. While Arya spoke, Eragon merely sat to the side listening and when given the chance or asked, giving his own observations during his time spent with the Varden. He did not reveal all to Evandar, however. He believed that for Deynor to continue being an apt leader, he needed to have his own secrets and leverage.

_The world of politics, _thought Eragon with a slight scowl.

When Arya was finally done with her report, Evandar nodded leaning back in his armchair to study his daughter. "You have endured much, Arya," said Evandar. A hint of a smile seemed to playing on Evandar's lips as if he wanted to praise his daughter and her work but he thought against it. Perhaps it was because Eragon was present. Instead, he merely said, "Rest now. You have returned home and have recently been healed from a battle with the Forsworn. I do not want you to overexert yourself now that you are here in Ellesméra."

"I shall," Arya's eyes darted to Eragon and seemingly catching on with her train of thought, Evandar spoke once more.

"There are a few matters in which I would like to speak with Eragon of," said Evandar. A crease appeared between Arya's brows and it looked as if she wanted to say something. Instead, she merely nodded and rose fluidly to her feet. With one last long glance at Eragon and Evandar, she gently opened the door and closed it behind her.

"Is something a matter Evandar Könungr?" asked Eragon watching as the seat that Arya sat in but seconds earlier slowly sank into the ground as if it were never there before.

"I believe that my family owes you more than a mere ring, Eragon-vor," said Evandar his eyes darting to Aren. "You have done Islanzadí and I a great service by keeping Arya alive during your travels. Had it not been for you, she would have succumbed to the poison before she could have reached a city or an outpost for help. She would have been lost."

It bothered him how truthful Evandar was being with him. He wanted to deny the king's words but when he thought about it, had he not went and found Arya she would have been in the poison's grips on the forest floor with no one to come to her aid. The thought of it made the hair on his neck stand on end. Then again, it was his fault that the Forsworn had come so far out. Had she not been with him, she would not have been injured so.

"It is not something that I should be thanked for," said Eragon eventually. His fingers twitched and he wanted to grip something but did not know what. "I would have done so regardless. There is no need for you to thank me, Your Majesty."

"Even so," said Evandar reaching up to place the tips of his fingers against his temple. "As a father, I can only feel gratitude towards you. As you know, Eragon, children are the pride of their parents, the embodiment of their love, and to lose a child…the pain would be unbearable. When elves grieve, we grieve not for days but for years and possibly decades."

Eragon did not say anything in return. He did not know what to say in the face of what Evandar had just told him. He had always suspected the king to love his daughter dearly but never had he thought to such an extent. But then again, Arya had been gone from Evandar's wing for twenty years. Perhaps he was feeling the keen sting of not having his daughter by his side.

"I am glad to see Arya returned to Ellesméra," Evandar's eyes darted to the glass on his desk that was given to him as a gift from Islanzadí years ago. Then his eyes became even more deep and knowing. "It pains me to know that I cannot do much but wait for her return as the months pass by and the seasons shift but I could not have asked for a better person to walk by her side such as you, Eragon. Knowing that you are with her puts my fears to rest."

"Thank you for your words, Evandar Könungr," said Eragon.

They sat there together and spoke more of meaningless things before Eragon took his leave of the king. Closing the door quietly behind him, he made his way back to his quarters—the very same one that he had been living in before he had departed for the Varden nearly thirty years ago. As he did so, he passed by the flowerbeds and felt himself pause for a moment. His eyes flew to the patch where black morning glories should have been blooming but none were there. _Is Fäolin still unsure of his feelings for Arya?_

Mood significantly worse, he turned and headed back to his quarters. Pulling the screen door back, he closed it behind him and made for his bedroom. It was as he'd left it. On the window sill was the statue of Saphira that he had finished long ago. Its position made it appear as if it were going to take off into the sky from the open window and a wave of nostalgia washed over him. It was almost as if he were watching Saphira take flight form the tear drop window back in Vrael's tree in his other life. Setting his pack and swords off to the side against the wall, he took a seat on his bed.

He felt restless for some reason. Was it because of Arya's injury days earlier, Evandar's words, or the inevitability of seeing Arya and Fäolin together? Shaking his head, he moved to lie down on his bed, stopping when he felt something in his pocket crinkle with his movements. Curious, he reached and pulled out the parchment recognizing the letter that Formora had sent to Kialandí. Staring at the neat letter, his contemplative expression deepened. Formora sounded like Elvina…Or perhaps, Elvina sounded like Formora. He turned the letter in his hands once more trying to think of Formora's cryptic words. There was something strange about her. He had not seen her since that fateful day he had stumbled upon her bathing in the Beartooth River. It was as if she'd vanished from the face of Alagaësia.

_I am too tired to think about Formora, _thought Eragon as he placed the missive on his bedside table. Pushing all thought from his mind, he turned about in his bed and let his waking dreams take him away. He could do with getting away from reality for the moment. It was stark and dreary. Instead, he let himself be taken away by his waking dreams which involved a life where Saphira existed and Arya was with him, sharing in his joys and sorrows.

The following day as he was making his way through Tialdarí Hall intent on seeing Rhunön, he was surprised when he turned into the area of flowerbeds and found himself face to face with Fäolin. The elf appeared surprised at the sight of Eragon. Muttering a single word of apology, he turned and was about to leave before Fäolin spoke.

"If you are not in a hurry, would you spare me some of your time?" asked Fäolin. Eragon was the surprised one this time. He glanced at the elf who was a significant part of Arya's life in the other Alagaësia. Interested in what Fäolin had to say, he nodded allowing the elf to lead him to an isolated part of the flower beds where they wouldn't be heard.

He waited, his interest heightened at the expression of Fäolin's face. It was as if he was unsure of what to say to Eragon. _Then why did he call me here if he cannot bring himself to speak? _He was about to turn and leave but he blinked when Fäolin greeted him first. After a few seconds, Eragon responded in kind noting that Fäolin did not bring himself to say the third and final line of the greeting. That was only natural seeing as how Eragon was no one noteworthy to have the honor of receiving the last line of the greeting.

"If you will make haste," said Eragon uncomfortable in Fäolin's presence. His mind could not help but think of the elf before him as the enemy, despite the fact that Fäolin had been nothing but polite. "I had planned to visit my teacher before I leave Ellesméra once more."

"Thank you," said Fäolin sincerely. Eragon blinked twice, his expression blank. What was Fäolin thanking him for? Had he done something that warranted the elf's gratitude? Before Eragon could answer, Fäolin paved forward. "For saving Arya. I heard that the two of you were attacked by the Forsworn on your way to Du Weldenvarden." His eyes darted to Andlát and his expression became fierce. "It is a worry abated to know that she has a reliable companion."

Despite all the gratitude and sincerity in Fäolin's words, Eragon could not help but feel a stinging rush of emotions towards the elf before him. Why did he thank Eragon for saving Arya? What did he have to do with Arya that demanded that he give his gratitude to Eragon? He understood why Evandar wanted to say his thanks for he was Arya's father and she was his only daughter. It would have been out of place had Evandar not given his thanks even if Eragon did not want it. But Fäolin…he had no right.

He had decided to stay behind while Arya had made her decision to venture forth out of Du Weldenvarden of her own volition. What would someone like Fäolin know about the dangers of losing someone important? His answer was clear for the elf didn't know at all. He was here in Ellesméra, waiting and contemplating what to do with his life while Arya was fighting and carrying out her duties as elven ambassador for her people. It was irrational how irritated he was.

And before he could stop himself, he spoke, "What is Arya to you?"

The stunned look on Fäolin's face was only present for a few seconds before it was gone to be replaced by a reserved look. His blue eyes which were showing immense gratitude earlier were now polite and yet curious as if he was looking at Eragon for the first time in his life.

"Why do you ask such a question?" asked Fäolin, his words guarded. He wasn't as thoughtless as Eragon made him out to be. "What my relationship to Arya is that is something that I do not need to divulge to you."

"I just find it strange that you would express such concerns," said Eragon with a critical eye. He thought of how to speak without blatantly offending Fäolin. "You have no reason to be thankful to me for saving Arya. The way you speak, it is almost as if you are taking responsibility for her welfare. Perhaps I am wrong but it did not seem as if you are speaking of her as a friend would."

If anything Fäolin's expression seemed to become rigid. Any trace of politeness was gone and it left the two of them staring at each other with calculating eyes as if they were trying to divine the intentions of the other. Unwilling to back down, he held Fäolin's gaze. He detested the fact that Arya had once felt something for the elf before him. He was undecided, hesitant, and too contemplative. At least that was how he came across to Eragon. To Arya perhaps he was charming, eloquent, and fair.

The thought of it made him want to rage at something.

"I did not expect to see the two of you here," another voice joined them. Eragon turned to find Arya making her way towards them. She was dressed in her leather still but her hair was down, the headband gone from sight. The only weapon she carried was her sword which was on her right hip. To his disappointment, she came to Faolin's side rather than his. It was like a blow to the gut watching as she turned to face him from where she stood by the elf.

Was fate mocking him?

"Good morning, Fäolin, Eragon," greeted Arya.

"Good morning, Arya," Fäolin greeted, his earlier guarded expression fading away to be replaced by a smile. Eragon merely inclined his head to her, too wound up to say something. He knew that he lacked eloquence and he was afraid that the moment he opened his mouth, the irrational side of him which was angered by Fäolin would speak his mind.

_Calm yourself, _thought Eragon. _It is not like you have a right to Arya any more so than Fäolin does. At least he is truthful to her while all she knows about you are woven into lies._

That thought effectively quelled his anger. "Is something bothering you, Eragon?" asked Arya her brows furrowed in concern. "You look restless."

"It is nothing," said Eragon waving it off. "I should leave to see Rhunön-elda." He held up Andlát. "She will be wanting to see one of her works once more." He glanced between Fäolin and Arya one more time before he left them, making his way towards the entrance of Tialdarí Hall.

When he was free of the compound and walking on the paths between the trees did he allow himself to think of what had just occurred. He did not know why it was that Fäolin's words had irritated him so. A friend had every right to be concerned of another. He knew that Fäolin and Arya were good friends. He'd accepted that fact. But Fäolin thanking him for saving Arya sounded as if he was thanking Eragon for saving someone pivotal to his life.

Shaking his head, Eragon entered the dogwood tunnel and continued until he emerged into the open atrium where Rhunön's house and open walled forge resided. Hearing the sound of a hammer, he smiled to himself. At least there would be one constant to his return to Ellesméra. Walking forward with purpose, he entered the forge to find Rhunön bent over the anvil hammering away at what appeared to be the beginnings of gauntlets.

"Master Rhunön," said Eragon pleasantly as he approached her. She glanced up at him, her eyes narrowing. She was not surprised to see him even if it had been quite some time since they'd last met one another.

"Back again?" she grunted. Without waiting for his answer, she returned to her hammering.

"Where is Sundavar?" asked Eragon referring to Aegor's sword that was returned to Rhunön years earlier after he'd killed the elf Forsworn.

"In my house," she blinked, staring at him suspiciously. "Why do you ask?"

"Just out of curiosity," said Eragon. With a slight smile, he held Andlát out before Rhunön. "I have another one of your works to return to you, Master Rhunön." She paused and glanced up, her eyes coming to rest on the violet sword.

Her reaction was as he'd suspected. She placed her hammer down and left the half formed gauntlets resting on the anvil before reaching out with wide eyes and a stunned expression for Andlát. He gave her the sword without resistance watching as she took the blade in both hands and stared. Her eyes seemed to roam all over the scabbard trying to find even the slightest mar to her work. When she was satisfied that there was none, she slid the blade free from the scabbard admiring the deep violet hue of the sword as it glinted in the sunlight that flowed through the open wall of the forge.

"Andlát," breathed Rhunön. "Never would I have thought to hold this blade in my hands once more." She turned the sword over before reaching up to bend the blade. "It has always been a beautiful sword despite its chilling name."

"It fit for someone of Kialandí's likes," said Eragon.

Rhunön nodded. "He was always so ambitious and overreaching. Little good that did for him."

"Aye," agreed Eragon with a nod watching as Rhunön sheathed Andlát, cradling the sword to her like a newborn babe.

"Your service has left me at a loss for words," said Rhunön. He was glad when she did not thank him but rather, the gratitude in her eyes was enough. He did not need to hear her words to understand how much she appreciated the fact that he had returned two of the thirteen swords to her that have been used to slaughter an entire order. They would no longer be wielded for evil purposes anymore and perhaps that would indeed help ease Rhunön's guilt which Eragon had always thought was unfounded.

"It is only right to have them returned to you," said Eragon.

Rhunön looked like she wanted to say something, to express her feelings but stopped which only made his appreciation for the aged old blacksmith grow. The two of them have always been eccentric. They were prone to snapping at others, not content with the way things were, unable to find themselves truly at ease with another's presence, and finally lacking the ability to speak of their feelings. If Eragon's eloquence was as blunt as an axe, then Rhunön's was as flat as the anvil she was hammering away on.

A long moment passed between them before she placed Andlát against the wall and threw a hammer and a pair of tongs at Eragon. "You have no doubt been too busy to practice your skills at a forge," said Rhunön with a critical look as Eragon gripped the tools in his hands. "But do not forget what I told you years ago when I took you for an apprentice, Eragon."

"Once an apprentice always an apprentice," said Eragon.

"Then let me see what it is that you have to offer," said Rhunön as she gestured to the gauntlets she was working on. "Finish them for me."

Surprised that she would let him continue off of a piece of her work, he took up the task with diligence and determination. A great part of him wanted to show Rhunön that she was not mistaken in taking him as her pupil but another part of him was glad to have something to focus his mind on. He did not want to think of Arya spending more time with Fäolin. She was no doubt walking with him underneath the pine needles of Ellesméra, laughing and conversing, telling him of her many stories.

He hammered a little too hard and fought a wince when a jarring feeling ran up the length of his arm. Shaking himself free of his thoughts, he returned to the work at hand and it took until sundown before he was able to produce gauntlets worthy of Rhunön's praise which consisted of a nod and a slight curve of her lips.

"If you do not mind, Master Rhunön," said Eragon as they were gathering up her tools to put away. "I would like to stay in the forge for a moment longer."

"Make sure you return the forge to as it was by morning," said Rhunön not questioning his reasons why. She knew well enough that he wanted time to think for himself. And he knew that she wanted time to study Andlát more. When she was gone, he sighed and went to grab a small piece of marble the size of his fist, setting it on the work bench. Then grabbing several different sized chisels and a hammer, he began to etch away into the marble stone.

It always helped him to clear his mind.

As he worked, he thought about Fäolin, Arya, Rhunön, and Evandar. His anger was irrational. He knew it and he hated that he knew it. He was angry because of what was and what was going to happen. He was angry because he wanted something that he had given up in order to have a second chance. He was angry because he had no right to be angry. Letting out a frustrated sound, he brought the hammer down and missed hitting his own fingers. A curse was on the tip of his tongue before a soft sound of laughter reached his ears.

"This is a familiar sight," a lilting voice said filled with mirth.

He glanced up to find Arya standing at the open wall of the forge, her emerald eyes bright. She swept into the forge, making her way to stand opposite of him across the workbench. "How are your fingers?"

Eragon glanced down at the injured fingers to find them healed, the green mist fading away. "Healed," said Eragon as he glanced at Arya once more, his eyes flickering over her head. Fäolin was nowhere in sight. He felt rather pleased that was until his eyes returned to Arya and confusion swept over him. "Is there something you needed, Arya?"

She shook her head. "I just wanted to see if you were here," she glanced about the forge. "It brings a nostalgic feeling to the forefront to stand here with you once more after so many years."

"Odd isn't it?" asked Eragon remembering a time when she too came to visit him while he worked in the forge. "That feels like a lifetime ago—a lifetime where you were just Arya Dröttningu and I, Rhunön's apprentice."

"Do you regret?" asked Arya quietly, her fingertips resting against the top of the workbench.

"No," Eragon answered sincerely. She smiled.

"Neither do I," her smile faltered somewhat which worried him. She seemed to hesitate for a moment before seemingly gathering her inner strength and walking about the workbench towards him. When she was close enough, he saw the clear indecision in her eyes before it was gone and she was wrapping her arms about his waist, embracing him. He was stunned to the point that he thought his breathing had stopped.

"Everyone else had their chance to say their thanks to you," said Arya softly against his shoulder. "But I have yet to say my thanks to you. I should be the one that is grateful for all you have done whether it was out of your good will or duty."

Unbelieving, Eragon slowly brought his arms up to tentatively embrace her about the shoulders making sure to keep his hands away from the middle of her back thinking that would be too personal. "You, of all people, have no need to thank me," said Eragon glad to have her in his arms once more. Her body was soft and warm against his and her scent washed over him, easing his mind. "You are an important friend of mine Arya. What I do for you, I do without seeking your thanks."

"No matter," she said in a firm voice, "I wish to give it to you nonetheless." She was silent for a moment and then her voice grew softer. "You are also an important friend of mine, Eragon. And one day, I shall repay you for all you've done."

His arms tightened slightly about her shoulders and he fought the urge to pull her closer against him, to embrace her and never let go. But this was enough. Arya had come to him on her own and had spoken her feelings. And if it was her giving her own gratitude, he did not mind. All thoughts of Fäolin were erased from his mind as he held her in his arms. His heart which was rapidly beating in his chest earlier had calmed to a steady beat.

He took in a deep breath, letting the scent of crushed pine needles wash over him and his limbs relaxed even more.

"I shall wait for that day to come, Arya," he said softly. Her only response was to shift in his embrace. _No matter how long it takes, _he thought to himself fiercely, _I'll always wait for you._

**Just a chapter to explore the many relationships going on in this story that were never really touched upon in the original. I just wanted to write a meeting between Eragon and Faolin really. (Honestly, I feel like the two in this story are Foils to each other. One's charismatic and charming while the other is grumpy and as charming as the end of a hammer). In any case, I would say this chapter is merely for my own curiosity and to give the characters some more depth. Moody Eragon comes and goes once again mixed together with a snappish Eragon. You know...I watched Lord of the Rings recently (finally) and the battle scenes in there just inspire me to write one for this story. I feel like its due time for some grand scale battle. Still contemplating the thought as well as when Faolin comes into the story permanently. In any case, everyone have a Happy Thanksgiving! I'll see you soon!**

**P.S. Anyone buy the PS4 or Xbox One?**


	28. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

**Happy Thanksgiving everyone! How are you all? In my case, I had a wonderful thanksgiving. I decided to update today because in the following weeks I will be very busy (life, gaming, family, Christmas, and birthdays). There was a question about Arya's magic that heals Eragon. Why did no one question it? Well I would think that they just trust Eragon and decide not to question him. In this story, he can be quite the intimidating character. I don't know if I would be able to update quickly but I hope I would. In any case, I shall leave you all with this chapter in **which...Ah** well, you'll be reading it so I'll leave you to it all. In any case, if you spot any typos/errors PM or review and I shall fix it! R&R everyone!**

"There is still much to plan," said Eragon with a frown as he glanced at the map that Lucas gave him. Deynor had said that there had been a group of slavers caught wandering about the Beor Mountain and had been preying on those who fled the Empire towards the Varden. The middle aged blond haired man nodded, his face grim. He glanced at the man who had once looked up at him in admiration when he was younger—when he was still but a boy. That had greatly changed thought Eragon but the admiration had never faded in Lucas's eyes.

"I told Deynor such," said Lucas, a senior member of Du Gata Vrangr. "But he insisted that the moment you returned to the Varden, you should be made aware of the situation. If these slavers continue to do what they've been doing, we will lose incoming members to the Varden."

His lips curved down in distaste as he observed the map before him. The Beor Mountains were large and the instances in which the kidnappings had happened were widespread and random. There was no pattern to the slavers. To search every nook and cranny of the Beor Mountains would take too much time. "There was an instance to the west," said Eragon taking a look at the area that Lucas had marked with his quill. Then there has been another instance near the abandoned city of Tarnag.

Of all the things to worry about once he'd returned from Du Weldenvarden, it was slavers. "What are your orders, sir?" asked Lucas. "I could ask Faramir to bring together a scouting group and we can search the Beor Mountains for the kidnappers."

"No," Eragon shook his head. "I do not like the idea of running after an enemy blind."

"Then what would you suggest?" he glanced up at Rosalie. She was the only other person present apart from Lucas whose opinion had enough significance to give him pause. Rosalie's expression became deep and contemplative.

"You say they attack randomly?" asked Rosalie, her emerald eyes darting to Eragon before returning to Lucas.

He nodded. "Aye," unlike when he was younger, Lucas did not flush bright red when Rosalie spoke directly to him. Instead, he nodded, his expression still grim. Marriage and children have done Lucas well thought Eragon. No longer was Lucas a nervous boy that stammered over the slightest spell. He was confident and sharp now. "It appears that they are after young men and women. The older kind have been left unharmed."

"The best way to chase slavers," said Rosalie with narrowed eyes. "Is to have them come to us."

Catching onto her line of thought, Eragon frowned. He liked the idea but who else would become the bait for such a plan? "Who would you suggest should draw them out?" asked Eragon. He could see himself doing it but he did not know who else might consider doing so.

Rosalie drew herself up and pinned him with a stare. "I shall do it so long as you are with me, Eragon."

If it was with Rosalie than that put his mind at ease. He held her gaze and nodded. "Then let us prepare to ride west tomorrow," said Eragon as he glanced at the map marked in several places near the Beor Mountains.

"Should I have Faramir follow behind you with a company of soldiers?" asked Lucas.

Eragon shook his head. Slavers would not be a threat to him and Rosalie. They should be able to handle the group with ease and return to the Varden within a few days. "Rosalie and I shall be fine on our own," said Eragon. "There will be no need to bring a group of soldiers."

"Of course," said Lucas bowing his head.

"Tell Deynor that I shall have the problem with the slavers sorted," said Eragon dismissing Lucas. He nodded and retreated from the chambers while Eragon turned to Rosalie who was now leaning against his desk.

"How have you been?" asked Rosalie surprising Eragon momentarily. Rosalie had always been upfront with him whether in this life or the other. She usually spoke her mind and was not afraid to tell him what she was thinking. Perhaps that was one reason as to why he got along so well with Rosalie, he could always expect her to speak truthfully to him.

"Tired," said Eragon honestly. He glanced at the map on the table before them. "I did not expect to be chasing after slavers on my return to the Varden."

"Deynor had suggested that it would have been easier with you at the forefront searching for them," said Rosalie though her expression suggested that she was not happy with Deynor's decision either. He nodded, he'd expected as much. Deynor, despite being a good leader, had to surround himself with trusted advisers and commanders like Faramir. Faramir was a trusted commander of the Varden army. Eragon had chosen him after Irvine had passed away three years earlier. Despite being young, Faramir had an intelligent mind and he was fiercely loyal. Not to mention that most of the Council of Elders during Weldon's time had retired or passed away and now the council was replaced by those whom Eragon trusted to guide Deynor in the right direction.

"If I can ease his worries, than I shall," said Eragon said without much protest. "Though I do not understand why there would be slavers about the Beor Mountains so far from the Empire. I do not think they are merely capturing to sell them off as mere slaves."

"You think they are being used for another purpose?" asked Rosalie with a frown, shifting her red hair from her face.

"It seems like it," said Eragon. He reached up to rub his temple before sighing. After a moment, he glanced at Rosalie. "And how have you been, Rosalie? Has Angela been as irritating as ever?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "I will never understand your relationship with Angela. Despite how much she complains about you, she seems rather fond of your company. She is not annoying, merely overly curious and possibly insatiable for knowledge."

"I suppose," said Eragon as he rolled up the map. "And how have the Du Gata Vrangr been faring? I apologize for leaving you to my duties while I am gone, but I could think of no other fit to teach the members."

"We are growing in size," said Rosalie. "The amount of magic users has grown in the Varden which helps the military and keeps any spies from infiltrating the Varden. On the military front, the Varden is getting stronger by the day but I do not know how we are economically but it seems as if magic has helped trade flourish."

"That is good news," said Eragon pleased with what he heard. It appeared as if Deynor was doing well when it came to the people. The standard of living was not as poor or as cruel as it was in the Empire which gave others more of an incentive to join the Varden. "I suppose Faramir will be tending to the warriors while I am gone which would put my mind at ease. Lucas shall have to take command of Du Gata Vrangr whilst we are away…" He trailed off, he saw nothing wrong with the idea of leaving two of his most trusted people in command while he was away.

"Lucas is diligent and worthy," said Rosalie with a nod. "Faramir, though young, is steadfast and righteous. I could think of no other two better to help serve while we are away."

"My thoughts exactly," said Eragon with a nod of his head. Rolling up all the reports and the maps, he tucked them under his left arm and turned to Rosalie. "Are you not particularly busy today? I always thought you were running about the Varden doing errands and such."

"Not today," answered Rosalie, the two of them exciting the chamber together.

Eragon nodded. That was odd, usually Rosalie was very sought after. She trained the archers in the Varden, was a well-known healer, and was overall very pleasant company. At first, the people of the Varden were weary of Rosalie's inability to age or rather her ability to stay young but after spending many eyars in her compandy, she'd been accepted by the people. "That is good," said Eragon after a moment of walking. "You work yourself too hard. It is best to rest every once and a while."

She smiled at him as if he had flattered her. The two of them continued onward together. As they walked together, Eragon nodded to the guards that passed them. He never made a big show of demanding respect from the warriors within the Varden but they seemed to give their respects to him freely. Or rather not freely but willingly.

"I would say the same for you," said Rosalie without missing a step in their conversation. "You work yourself far too hard. Everyone wants your help but there is only so many that you can answer to."

"You make me sound more important than I actually am," said Eragon with a slight smile. Rosalie always had a way of making him sound more important than he ever thought he would be. He chuckled lightly to himself.

"What is so humorous?" asked Rosalie curiously. He merely waved her comment away.

"My thoughts," said Eragon as he tapped his forehead to show her. She nodded. "In any case, I shall see you in the early morning Rosalie. If you will prepare steeds for our task I would greatly appreciate it. I have to see Arya for our sparring."

Rosalie's brows furrowed for a moment before she nodded. "Of course, early morning then."

He said his farewells to her and made his way back to his room. It had only been two days since he and Arya had returned to the Varden but she had insisted that they continue their sparring. Despite the fact that they had been sparring together for years, Arya had only managed to win a handful of times in their matches. But she was getting better, thought Eragon as he slipped into the hidden hallway that his quarters were located in. By the time seventy years came and passed, she would be a master at the sword.

Opening the door, he sighed when he caught sight of Elvina sitting on his couch in his living room as if it was not out of the norm for her to be in his room. "Inviting yourself in once again?" asked Eragon with a sigh as he went to deposit his reports and maps onto his study table. "And you say that I lack manners."

"You do," said Elvina turning to look at him.

"I see your attitude is as unchanging as ever," said Eragon used to Elvina's sarcastic nature. It seemed as if their relationship would always be rooted in such comments. It was familiar at least, thought Eragon.

"Did you expect it to change?" asked Elvina with a raised brow, her blue eyes flickering to his. The expression he saw in them made him pause. There was a slight difference to the emotion in her eyes. They were not cool nor indifferent but rather, they showed a light of hesitation and a different emotion that he could not understand. But it made him cautious for he'd never seen Elvina betray such depth of emotion apart from the one moment years earlier when the both of them sat side by side in the stone forest underneath Farthen Dûr.

"No," said Eragon honestly. He wanted to ask her what it was that was bothering her but thought against it. Instead, he merely turned away from her and made his way to the door, intending to leave. Usually whenever he was confused about Elvina, he took the moment to escape in case he let any of this thoughts show.

"Eragon," there was a flourish of movement behind him. He turned to answer her, blinking when Elvina came upon him quick and quietly. She gripped his wrists in her hands pushing him back against the stone wall causing his head to thud against the stone and lights to flash before his very eyes. "Wait."

Momentarily stunned by her actions, he tried to clear his head inwardly wincing at the forming ache in the back of his skull. Whatever she had to say, she did not have to push him so roughly against the wall to do so. He was about to snap at her before her face came into focus causing the words to die on his lips. He had never seen her look so serious before—so desperate.

"Listen to me, Eragon," said Elvina, her blue eyes burning with an unknown emotion. It took him a moment for his mind to process what she was saying but when it did, he felt his anger fall away to be replaced with alarm. Not only was her tone of voice lacking its usual sarcasm but she was speaking to him in the ancient language. "You have to leave the Varden."

"What?" Instantly, his alarm at her odd behavior was washed away to be replaced with something else as he stared at Elvina. Why was she suggesting that he leave the Varden? Eyes sharp and mind sharper, he frowned down at Elvina. "What are you saying?"

She looked frustrated but she repeated herself, "You need to leave the Varden, Eragon."

"And why should I?" asked Eragon as he stared down at Elvina. What she was saying made no sense. Perhaps she wasn't feeling well. He was about to suggest that she went and rested but stopped when she pressed against him, her hands tightening their grip on his wrists.

She seemed to struggle for words. After a long moment, her blue eyes lowered to the ground before raising to look at him once more. "You are being hunted, Eragon," whispered Elvina urgently. "If you keep staying with the Varden eventually you will be caught."

_What? _He stared at Elvina a series of questions running through is mind. How did she know this? Who was hunting him? Why was she telling him this? Most importantly, why did it matter to her? Trying to sort out his thoughts, he turned to Elvina with a somber expression. "Why would I run? Who is hunting me that I should be frightened of?"

"Now is not the time for your pride," said Elvina with a deadly snarl. He blinked at her ferocity. One moment she was worried about him and the next she looked like she wanted to badly hurt him. "You are strong, Eragon, I will not deny that. But you are only strong amongst those who you surround yourself with, men, elves, and dwarves. There are elements outside of the Varden that are stronger than you, more terrifying and fear encompassing."

"And who would that be?" asked Eragon.

"Galbatorix!" The name seemed to burst from her lips in a rush of anxiety and frustration. "I had thought you were intelligent. No matter how strong you are, no matter how many of the Forsworn you kill, you cannot beat a man who has slaughtered an entire order."

Insulted, he was about to remove himself from Elvina's grasp but her hands tightened until her grip was almost painful. "I know you are strong, Eragon…but, not compared to someone like Galbatorix. You kill his Forsworn, you kill his Ra'zac…what does it matter? As long as Galbatorix is alive, you cannot win no matter how many of his servants you do away with. There will always be more to replace them. And you Eragon are only one person, one person without a dragon. You cannot win against him."

"You would have me become a coward?" asked Eragon in a quiet voice. Though a part of him was angered by Elvina's words, he knew that she spoke the truth. Without Saphira, he had no means to fight Galbatorix. His Forsworn was different but the king was another opponent to be faced with. "To run and save myself?"

"Sometimes, running is the only thing one can do," said Elvina shaking her head. "Is it cowardly to want to live? Is it brave to throw away your life?"

"As long as it is thrown away for a cause I believe in," said Eragon.

She laughed bitterly. "Of course you would think so. As long as it was a glorious and righteous death you would have no qualms about surrendering your life for the greater good." She looked darkly amused before closing her eyes momentarily and opening them once more to pin Eragon with the stare of her piercing blue eyes. "If you die, Eragon, what could that possibly do? One more death to pave the road to a useless cause? One more death to build up Galbatorix's throne?"

"If you believe that, than why are you here?" asked Eragon with a frown. "Why not run as you are suggesting that I do?"

"This is not about me," said Elvina with a fierce expression. "This is about you. I do not want to see your life wasted for a useless cause. You are not like the people you are fighting for. The dwarves never had any inclination to do with what laid outside of their halls. The elves are no better, remaining in their forest…and as for humans…you cannot save them, Eragon. You can give them borrowed time but in the end, they will die whether it is from an arrow to the chest, a stab to the gut, or the coming of old age. If you throw away your life for them, you are throwing it away from something meaningless."

"Not if I do not think it is," said Eragon taking in a deep breath. "Elvina…I am not going to run away. I understand what it is that I am risking. I understand that my life is in danger. I do not need you to remind me."

"I do not believe so," said Elvina, her blue eyes narrowing. "How many times do I have to tell you? When will you understand? You cannot defeat Galbatorix. No one can. He is too strong for just a mere elf. If you could not defeat him during the Fall, what makes you believe you can now?"

"Elvina," Eragon said quietly, willing her to understand his words. "If you and I are friends…if you ever gave any thought to me being a friend of yours…then do not make me out to be a coward." In that one moment when those words left his lips, he remembered Arya telling her mother that she would not turn away in the face of the upcoming battle with Galbatorix. He remembered her strength and how she was determined to survive. That was where Elvina and Arya were different thought Eragon. Arya was willing to die for what she believed in while Elvina saw her life too great to sacrifice even if her death could not change the tide of fate.

She blinked staring up at him, her expression shifting from frustration to collected sadness. "I see," she shook her head, her eyes darting to the side as if she was thinking long and hard. "No matter how much I try to convince you, you are bound to chasing after an impossible dream."

"Impossible?" Eragon shook his head. "Perhaps now it is but who is to say that will not change in a hundred years from now?"

"It will not change," said Elvina, her voice leaving no room for argument.

"I shall believe differently," he glanced down at her hands and moved to pull away from her. Her grip only tightened and her lips thinned as she stared up at him. He opened his mouth to tell her that Arya was waiting for him but then to his shock, Elvina pressed herself to him, capturing his lips in an open mouthed kiss Stunned, he merely stood there unable to process what it was that was actually going on. He felt her lips move over his, her fingers twining with his, her body pushing against his as he stood against the wall, and her scent wash through his nose.

Standing there, locked into place, Eragon tried to gather his bearings but the part of Arya that was within him was restless. He felt anger, possessiveness, and a sudden feeling of resentment for Elvina. It was almost like her soul was trying to tell Elvina that Eragon was not hers for the taking even if they were separated by the bounds of time as well as life and death.

When he felt Elvina's tongue slid into his mouth, his mind flashed to a time when it was not Elvina in his arms but Arya.

_Her lips were soft against his and the weight of her body was a comforting pressure against his body. He could stay in their shared cot, entwined with Arya for hours and never think twice about the world outside. Her body was soft and supple against his. Her hands were pressed up against his bare chest, her fingers kneading his skin. Her lips were soft and her breath caressed his face with every sigh, every gasp she took._

_Letting her tongue slide into his mouth, he made a low sound in the back of his throat. His hands came down and took hold of Arya's, intertwining their fingers and holding her hands and arms against the cot. With her hands out of the way, he pressed his chest against hers, relishing in her intake of breath. When breathing became an unneeded necessity, he pulled away to take in her flushed face, part lips, and dark emerald eyes—eyes that sparkled with emotion._

Immediately returning to himself, Eragon was about to rip himself out of Elvina's grasp only to have her solve his dilemma by pulling away. Her blue eyes were watching him, waiting for his reaction. He stared at her. A part of him wanted to rage at her and ask whether or not she was out of her mind, but the greater part of him was too focused on Arya and his ardent feelings for the elven princess. It felt wrong. The taste of Elvina was not sweet to him like Arya's was. Her body did not mold against his like a perfect fit, and her hands were cold and unlike the small, warm hands of Arya's. Everything about the situation was wrong.

_How did we go from arguing about cowardice to here?_

He was trying to find a moment in their conversation that would have led up to this point but nothing came to him. She had done this out of nowhere. It was unlike how Arya had confessed her feelings to him under the full moon of a beautiful star filled night. Standing together in Lake Tüdosten, wrapped around each other, Arya had taught him the deeper and warmer side of life. He had never thought he would ever feel so warm. And she had continued to keep that blazing warmth in him alive. Cocooned as he was by Arya's love, he'd never given much thought to the _idea _of possibly loving another person.

He stared at Elvina trying to imagine himself loving her, needing her, seeking her presence. But he couldn't. No matter how he thought about it, he could only ever see Arya. No one else could match his ardent feelings for Arya. Not Elvina…no one.

But strangely enough Elvina didn't seem to be entirely bothered by his lack of response. There was a slight change to her expression but nothing else. She scoffed slightly, before lifting her head to send him a somewhat wistful smile. "I suppose I was asking for too much from you, wasn't I?"

"It is not that you are not desirable, Elvina," said Eragon softly trying to find a way to ease what possible hurt she could be feeling. He did not like seeing Elvina so unsure of herself. "I—I cannot find myself having any feelings for you .For how can I when all that I am belongs to someone else?"

"Someone else…?" she trailed off, closing her eyes before opening them once more. "I see."

He fought the urge to say something. For some reason, his mind kept telling him that he should keep his mouth closed in this particular situation. Whatever he said, he knew it was not going to help the situation. He watched as she swallowed, her fingers twitching as if she wanted to grab something. Her eyes which were staring at some point on the wall to the side, darted to him or rather past him.

"The same person who forged you the blade of Vrangr?" asked Elvina quietly.

"Yes," he saw no reason to lie to her. What Elvina wanted from him, he could not give to her for he spoke the truth when he said there was nothing for him to give. How could he even fathom trying to love someone else when all he ever was belonged to Arya?

She laughed softly. "To think that someone like you would have found a place for your heart. In these past years, I would have never considered that someone would find your rudeness as appealing."

"Do you have regrets?" asked Eragon quietly as he stared at Elvina, uncomfortable with how quiet she was. He wished she would just revert back to her sarcastic ways and merely smirk and coldly laugh off his response to her.

Elvina thought about his question for a long moment before she shook her head. "You have made my life very interesting, Eragon. I will not lie," said Elvina turning to stare at him directly in the eye. "Perhaps I only regret not meeting you earlier before…" There was a flash of a memory in her blue eyes before she shook her head. "Regardless, it seems I have the answer I came here seeking."

Her words made him cautious as he stared at her. What did she mean by that? He watched as she turned to smile at him slightly. "I suppose you should return to what you were doing earlier, Eragon," said Elvina her expression hardening slightly. Then she smirked at him. "You need to regain your bearings. Remember, you are never appealing when you are uncertain about yourself."

With that she swept away and out of his chambers as if she had been doing nothing better than conversing with an uninteresting companion. He stared at the door as it closed softly behind her, wondering what had possessed Elvina to do what she had just done. Something told him that there was something about Elvina that was abnormal. It sounded almost as if she was…asking him to make a choice.

Shaking his head, his eyes flickered to where she sat on his couch before he remembered that Arya was waiting for him. Pushing the thoughts of Elvina to the back of his mind, he left his chambers and made his way to the training grounds. As he walked, he couldn't help but rub his chest feeling a piercing ache there. It wasn't him that ached but rather it was Arya's feelings that ached.

"I'm sorry," muttered Eragon as he rubbed his chest.

The feelings did not abate but continued to persist. He sighed even if Arya was not with him, the part of her that was had felt hurt about the incident with Elvina. If he felt irrationally angry about her and Fäolin in this time, she had a right to feel hurt about what had just occurred between him and Elvina, whatever that was. _To think that Elvina is attracted to me, _thought Eragon. Of all her sarcastic remarks and cool indifference, he never would have been able to guess.

Turning a corner, he continued, emerging onto the practice field where the warriors were training. Sitting in the stands not far off to the side by herself was Arya. Her head was bowed, her long hair covering her face, and for a strong moment Eragon felt a surge of panic in him. Trying not to hurry to her, he calmly walked towards where she sat making no effort to be quiet.

Hearing the soft footfalls in her direction, she glanced up her emerald eyes finding him. He was cut to the quick at the sight of her eyes and instantly felt ashamed of himself. Before she could say anything, Eragon spoke the aching feeling in his chest growing by leaps and bounds. "I'm sorry."

Her brows furrowed together in confusion as she stared up at him making him feel even guiltier. "For what?"

"Arriving late," said Eragon knowing that he could not very well say that he was apologetic for what had happened with Elvina.

She smiled at him. "No matter you are here now. You were no doubt busy with your duties." _Duties…_He inwardly winced at the word. She unfolded her legs which were crossed and stood immediately assaulting him with the scent of crushed pine needles, which was more comforting and familiar than Elvina's spicy cinnamon scent. "Shall we begin?"

He nodded the ache in his chest never leaving. The two of them moved to an unoccupied part of the practice field, drawing their blades and warding the edges. As he turned to face Arya, he felt hesitant. Trying to steel himself, he crouched waiting for Arya.

She sprung at him, faster than a wolf chasing its prey. Jaw clenching, he tightened his grip on Vrangr ready to meet her with the same ferocity and determination. The moment their blades clashed, he sought to keep his emotions in line and his mind clear of everything but Arya before him.

Apparently, sparring with Arya while his mind was occupied did not bode well for his body. He grunted when he was a fraction too slow in parrying a slash to his torso, causing him to stumble backwards and in the next second he was lying on his back with Arya hovering over him, her sword pressed to his throat. For some reason, lying there in a daze felt like just punishment. Blinking up at her, he watched as she frowned in worry before kneeling beside him.

"Perhaps we should call it a day," said Arya glancing at him. Her finger reached out and touched the forming bruise on his right cheek but as soon as it began to swell, her usual green magic flowed forth and healed the skin. As always there was a flash of curiosity in her eyes but she said nothing about it. "Your mind appears elsewhere."

"My apologies," murmured Eragon as he stood, Arya following in his stead. She tilted her head to the side and nodded. He watched as she undid the spell on her blade, sheathing it once more. Meanwhile, Eragon's eyes darted to the blade of Vrangr watching as it caught sight of Arya's reflection in the webs on the sapphire surface. Undoing the wards on his blade, he sheathed it turning to Arya who was watching him curiously.

"Did something happen?" she asked.

Eragon shook his head. "No, I just need to rest," _and think._

She tilted her head to the side and looked like she wanted to say more but merely nodded. "You work yourself too much," he fought a smile when he remembered Rosalie's words earlier.

"I suppose," said Eragon glancing upwards. The ache in his chest had subsided slightly but only slightly. "I'm sorry." He just wanted to say it once more and hoped that she understood.

Her lips pursed and her brows furrowed as she shook her head. "There is no need for you to be."

_But I am, _said Eragon silently. But Arya never heard him instead she merely gestured that she would walk with him back to his quarters for she had several duties to attend to which required documents that she left in her study. As he walked by her side, he could not help but think of his Arya and if she felt how part of her soul felt swirling within his.

Fate just seemed to only want to complicate his life. Feeling the weight of Vrangr on his back, he continued to walk alongside Arya in silence.

_I am a coward, _thought Eragon as he rubbed his chest. _Forgive me, Arya._

The ache in his chest subsided by only a fraction but it continued to plague him and he could only hope that the following morning when he left with Rosalie for their mission, her hurt would have subsided. And if it didn't, at least he would have a distraction to devote himself to.

So...what** did you think? I think the truth of Elvina will come out soon but I'm still debating how to reveal it. It'll be interesting I'll bet. In any case, just a chapter to see Eragon's thoughts on the females in his life currently. As for those who believe that Eragon should find someone in case Arya develops a relationship with Faolin...I don't think that's something someone like Eragon would do even if it is to just chase off his feelings for Arya momentarily. In RL, he's always been loyal and faithful to Arya and I would like to think of him as the same in this story. As for Faolin and **Arya...that**'s another thing to explore if I ever get the chance. And I understand those of you who do not like the aspect of Faolin and Arya together for even a short **time...but** I feel like that's such a golden opportunity to pass up, you know? In any case, you'll all find out soon what will become of ExA in the upcoming chapters. And just a heads up, this story will switch to Arya's POV at some point...I'll tell you when we get there! In any case, happy thanksgiving once again! I bet many of you are out doing some early Black Friday shopping so this shall be waiting for you on your return!**


	29. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

**Hello again, everyone! It has been too long since the last chapter and I apologize! Research papers, birthdays, and whatnot took up all my time and I just seem to fall asleep whenever I sit at my desk nowadays. Anyways, some concerns to address. Someone asked about Eragon's armor and I would like to say that he still has it, just that he doesn't see a need to wear it since it's made for battles. And next, I don't start backpacking until a few more months since I have to get all the paperwork down and my schedule to work so there's that. And I think that's it for now. I'll try to remember more if I can. Anyways, happy reading everyone R&R!**

"Our men are being attacked on their way return from Surda," said Faramir with frown, his expression hard and his blue eyes blazing. "Whether or not they are mere bandits or Galbatorix's men, I do not know but I do know this, if this continues my lord we will be hard pressed to survive the winter."

Eragon nodded. He knew that much. A harsh winter was settling over Alagaësia, much rougher than the last and with the past drought this season, food was hard to come by. Over the last few months, Deynor had been allocating supplies for the winter seeing as they couldn't solely rely on the dwarves' for the season but in the past several weeks, their men sent to retrieve such supplies had been attacked and the carts taken. Faramir, despite being rather young, was rather sharp and had spoken Eragon's thoughts before he could give them word.

It was a good assumption to believe that Galbatorix's men were attacking their men and taking their supplies. From what he'd heard of recently, the Empire was struggling with its greatest bout of poverty and famine with the droughts this past summer. Crops withered away, heat made hunger more distinct, and the lack of food seemed to cripple the people. And now that winter was settling, it would be impossible to survive if one had not prepared abundantly beforehand.

"We have only a few weeks left until the winter sets in and prevents travels outside," said Deynor, creases appearing on his forehead as he sat forward on at the table, studying his report. He shifted the parchment to take a look at another report detailing the missing men, the wounded, and the dead. "We cannot keep sending our men into danger like this."

"If we do nothing, our people will starve," said Faramir. Eragon's eyes darted to the young commander. Faramir was passionate and kind and it no doubt did not sit well with him to know that the Varden might have to endure lean times. "We are growing, my lord, and this year we have seen more members join our cause than any other. If we are unable to feed them, they shall have no reason to come and join the Varden."

Eragon nodded to himself at Faramir's words. Yes, he had been right in suggesting Faramir as the new commander of the Varden army. His eyes darted to Arya who sat beside him. The only ones present in the meeting chambers were Deynor, Faramir, Eragon, and Arya and so far she had only said a few lines here and there.

"Then what is it that you suggest I do?" asked Deynor turning his eyes to Faramir with a hard frown. "I understand your concerns Faramir but the days grow colder and the nights longer. I am only willing to order our men to transport the supplies but I do not think it is wise to send them chasing tails of whatever culprit is behind these acts. We are already lean as it is on food and I cannot have another company of men leave especially not without enough food to last them the journey to and back."

"Then you will let this matter pass?" asked Faramir, his jaws clenching.

"Then I shall go," said Eragon finally speaking. His eyes darted from Faramir to Deynor. "If it would set your mind at ease, Deynor, I shall set out for the area which Faramir speaks of."

"Then we should hurry to ready a squad of soldiers of the journey," said Faramir at once.

Eragon shook his head. "It will be quicker if I went by myself."

The young commander looked like he wanted to protest but Deynor spoke, effectively cutting across him. "It seems callous of me to ask so much of you when you have given so much to our cause, Eragon," said Deynor quietly.

"Callous or not, this is for the betterment of the Varden," said Eragon. "In any case, I do not think what awaits will be difficult to handle."

"And you shall travel by yourself?" questioned Deynor. "You will not take a spellcaster from Du Gata Vrangr? Perhaps even Rosalie?"

At the mention of Rosalie, Eragon shook his head. She was too busy training the others and he didn't want to bother her needlessly—not when he could get the job done himself. "Rosalie has her own duties to tend to and if I travel by myself, it shall be quicker," said Eragon as he stared at the map where Faramir had circled the approximate location where the attacks were happening. "I can scout the area before our company of soldiers return with our supplies."

Deynor sighed lifting his hand to rub his temple. "I had not wanted to ask this of you but it seems like there are no options left for us," he said turning to stare at Eragon. "We shall go with what it is that you are proposing, Eragon. By early morning tomorrow be packed and ready to depart. When you reach the area, I only want you to spend two days at most searching for the culprits. If you cannot find them than meet with the soldiers in Surda and return with them."

"Of course," said Eragon with a nod. His eyes darted to Faramir, who looked defeated. "Do not be so disheartened Faramir. I shall see to it that those attacking our soldiers repent for their ways."

"I have no doubt in your abilities," said Faramir without any hesitation. "It just does not sit well with me to send one man to do the work of a company of soldiers."

"I suppose your concerns are legitimate," said Eragon letting the fingers of his right hand drum softly against the stone table. "Still, it will help the resolve our problems much quicker this way." His fingers paused as he turned his eyes to Deynor. "It is agreed then that we shall proceed with this plan?"

"It is agreed," said Deynor with a nod.

"Then let us adjourn for today," said Eragon. There were few words left to be said as they all stood and made their way from the chamber. When they were outside, he turned to Faramir stopping the young commander in his tracks. "You shall take over my task of training the soldiers while I am gone, will you not Faramir?"

"I had planned to," he answered. "While I could not have been any help in this situation, I would like to apply myself elsewhere so that I may be of some use."

"You will have your chance soon enough," said Eragon with a slight smile as he turned away from the commander. He wished Faramir a good day and turned to leave only to find Arya waiting for him. Her expression was somewhat guarded which surprised him since she was always rather forthright with him.

"Is something bothering you?" asked Eragon as the two of them took up stride beside one another, the large hall echoing with their footsteps.

"It should not be but it is," said Arya honestly lifting her head to pin him with her stare. "I had not thought that you would volunteer for such a task."

"If not me than who?" prompted Eragon watching as her brows furrowed at his question. "I cannot sit idly by while our forces and way of life are being threatened. Winter shall be upon us, the harshest of which we haven't seen in years. The Varden must stock up on the everyday necessities of life so that we may endure the season with little loss."

"It would have been wise to have agreed to take a company of soldiers with you as Faramir had suggested," said Arya softly.

"You know as well as I do that if I went alone I could travel twice the distance a company of soldiers could travel in a day," said Eragon not understanding why it was that Arya was now voicing her concerns about his decisions. He'd thought she knew and trusted in his abilities. "Do not worry so much about me."

She nodded and did not say more about the subject which slightly bothered him but he did not feel the need to question her about her sudden silence. Instead, the two of them continued to walk together through the large marble hallways of the city. Not wanting to remain on such a bleak note with Arya before he departed early morning, he sought for something to say.

"You will not be returning to Ellesméra this winter?" asked Eragon hoping to make small talk with Arya. Usually, Arya would return for the winter season in Ellesméra. She shook her head and he thought he saw her cheeks flush slightly.

_What was that? _He wondered.

He was about to say something when he caught sight of Elvina. She was not paying attention to them but was walking their way and the expression on her face made him pause. Five years ago when Elvina had made advances on him, he did not know how to respond to her but she had salvaged that situation. Elvina had acted as if nothing had happened between them. And even though he agreed to the silent solution, it didn't sit well with him to act as if her feelings meant nothing.

She would have passed by them had it not been for Eragon who'd called out to her. "Elvina?"

She glanced up, her eyes landing on him before sliding over to Arya. There was a slight hint of distaste on her expression but only slightly. "Eragon…Arya," she acknowledged the elven ambassador rather stiffly.

"Elvina," Arya tilted her head in greeting her expression polite.

"Where is it that you are headed?" asked Eragon glancing behind him. "You look troubled."

Elvina's lips pursed as she regarded him for a moment. Then she raised a nicely curved brow, her sapphire eyes gleaming. "Worried for me, are you?"

He fought the urge to snort. "If you are feeling well enough to retort like so than I need not to worry I suppose," he shook his head wondering why he thought that it was necessary to stop Elvina in her way. He glanced at her and frowned slightly noticing the tension in her eyes. Even if their relationship had taken several odd turns, he did not want her to think that he was unapproachable. If she needed help, he wanted her to come to him.

He glanced at Arya, "Let us part ways here, Arya," said Eragon watching her expression become somewhat guarded. Her eyes darted to Elvina momentarily and back to him before she nodded—a quick birdlike motion of her head.

"Where will you depart from?" she asked.

"The west gates," Eragon answered.

"I shall see you off then," Arya promised him and then with one faint smile, she turned on her heels and swept elegantly away. He watched her lithe figure transverse the length of the hallway before disappearing about the corner. When he turned his gaze back on Elvina, there was a look of interest on her face that instantly made him wary.

"Yes?" Eragon prompted knowing that whatever it was that was on her mind, she would ask without any hesitation.

"You and Arya are rather close," observed Elvina. At her words, he immediately stiffened. _Did Elvina know? _Did she realize the river of emotions that he harbored for the elven princess which was as confused as it was the first time he'd met her. Deciding it best to approach this subject with care and caution, he spoke.

"I knew her when she was younger, long before she'd decided to join the cause of the Varden," he paused watching the interest in Elvina's expression grow. "We were friends long before we were companions fighting for the same cause."

"I see," the two of them began to walk together in the direction of the city. Eragon had learned five years ago that it was better not to be caught alone in merely Elvina's presence. She tended to act unexpectedly when they were. "Though I find it hard to believe that she will willingly tolerate your attitude. I had always thought elves valued manners above all else."

"If that was meant to be an insult, Elvina," Eragon said softly, "I shall let it pass for now."

"How kind of you," Elvina replied suggesting that she did not care whether or not he took her words to heart. Her expression grew serious. "You are leaving tomorrow?"

"Aye," he nodded to a group of passing Du Gata Vrangr members as they bowed their heads to him in respect. "There has been trouble stirring and if I do not deal with this matter, the consequences will take a toll on the livelihood of the Varden."

"And what is it that you of all people have been sent out to do?" Elvina asked a hint of worry in her tone. "Why could that young commander of yours—Faramir was it?—not handle this matter himself? Is he too frightened or is he incompetent?"

"He is neither," said Eragon sending Elvina a look that said that she should not be insulting the commander of the Varden despite his age. "Faramir is young but he is capable and he had offered to send warriors to investigate the matter but I decided to take up the task myself. I do not mean to be arrogant in saying so but I, alone, can accomplish what fifty men could do with ease."

She laughed lightly. "You say you do not wish to sound arrogant but I can only hear such."

Eragon smiled faintly at her. Elvina was not horrible company, no. When she was being civil, he found her presence to be rather comforting. "I suppose so," agreed Eragon. The two of them fell quiet as they emerged into the streets of the city, maneuvering about the busy everyday life of the Varden who had gotten used to living under the mountain of Farthen Dûr.

"Good day to you, sir Eragon," he turned and nodded to the young woman who greeted him and in return she promptly blushed.

"It seems that the mortals find you appealing," said Elvina with a smirk, her blue eyes guarded. "I suppose you do look enticing on the surface."

"No need to jest so freely Elvina," said Eragon eyeing her wearily. "I would like to spend my last evening with the Varden with a peace of mind for it is a long journey from me tomorrow."

She shrugged, waving her hand as if to say that the entire matter was behind them. After a long moment of walking together in silence, Elvina spoke once more, "Before you became a Rider and before you joined the Varden, what were you doing with your life, Eragon?"

Surprise coursed through him, he did not know that she would ask about his past. Elvina usually never asked about his history, she would annoy him by alluding to it but never did she outright approach the subject. He thought for a moment. The only person whom he had ever told of his past or part of the truth of his past was Arya. It felt odd to reveal it to Elvina.

"I grew up with my mother," said Eragon with a frown trying his best to censor his history so that nothing would appear unusual as it fell upon Elvina's ears. If there was one thing that he knew she was best at, it was being perceptive. "There is not much to my history to be honest, I would even go as far as to say that my life did not truly start until I was chosen to become a Rider."

"I see," said Elvina, her brows furrowing. For a moment he wondered if she could have possibly realized that he was lying but he cast the thought aside. He hadn't said anything that would raise any suspicion. "And after the Fall?"

"I studied the practices of the forge for some time before I decided to join the Varden," said Eragon, glancing at the white marble buildings about them. "I have yet to master the craft but it was enjoyable to learn despite its rigorous nature."

"I can only speculate," murmured Elvina as if she knew something that he didn't.

"In any case, that has been the remnants of my past," said Eragon with a hard look. "There is not much else to it. I had spent many years fighting and it feels odd to me to know that, all of my life I have never truly known what it means to live peacefully."

Her expression looked pained as she glanced away from him. "Is it because of Galbatorix and his Forsworn?"

"They are the cause of the misery of most in Alagaësia but not of all," said Eragon, he inwardly sighed before turning to find Elvina staring ahead as they walked, her expression far off. It was rather disconcerting. "I often wonder that if it were not for Galbatorix and his servants if the Order of Riders would have survived. I must admit that they were an Order swift to ignore the rising tensions before their very eyes to favor a false peace but still…I can only wonder."

"Do you hate the Forsworn?" asked Elvina quietly.

He stared at her bewildered. Why would she asked such a question? He had thought his position against Galbatorix and the Forsworn was clear. He did not agree with their ways and their ambition for power. He detested Galbatorix and if there were those who served him with sickeningly loyalty, he would grow to despise them as well.

"They are the reason for all of this," said Eragon silently questioning Elvina's question. "Had they not betrayed the Order and sided with Galbatorix this would not have happened. They chose power and ambition over brotherhood and justice. Is that not a legitimate reason to despise them?"

Elvina did not say anything which struck him as odd. "I suppose," she murmured quietly. The two of them continued through the street quietly which was odd but Eragon did not question her lack of words. Instead, he was glad that for once Elvina was not purposely being mean.

The following morning, Arya was true to her word, she'd come to see him off at the crack of dawn. He smiled at her as she reached forward to adjust the brooch that clasped his cloak to the base of his throat. "A gift from the dwarves?" her fingers deftly clasped the brooch shut as she glanced up at him.

"Orik presented it to me long ago," said Eragon with a nod. "I believe it was a gift to mean well."

"Orik, son of Hrothgar?" questioned Arya.

"The only one," he glanced at Arya curiously. "You have met him on several occasions have you not?"

"A few but we have never exchanged more than a few words. It is Hrothgar with whom I speak to," said Arya.

"Do you speak to dwarves much?" asked Eragon with a raised brow.

She shook her head.

He shifted the pack on his back. Staring over her head, he thought for a moment. It was not surprising that Arya rarely spoke with the dwarves. It was a well-known standing tradition that dwarves and elves did not agree on many things. In the future, however, Orik and Arya had always been rather polite—friends, even.

"When I return," said Eragon suddenly as his eyes returned to Arya. "I shall take you to one of their feasts celebrating their harvest this year."

Arya seem to contemplate his words and after a moment, she nodded smiling slightly. "Then I shall wait for your return so that we may go to this feast together." He nodded, watching as she stepped back to gesture to the dark tunnel behind him that led to the west of the Beor Mountains and towards Surda. "Travel swiftly, Eragon. May the stars watch over you."

With one last glance towards Arya, he turned and stepped over the threshold into the dark tunnel, lit every fifty feet by flameless lanterns. Behind him, the heavy gates swung shut concealing the image of Arya behind heavy stone. With one last glance towards the stone, he turned and sprinted forward. It was as he had said, traveling would be made easier if it were just him. He did not mind companions but he did not want to risk traveling with the group of soldiers and possibly having to bear the harsh winter before they could return to Tronjheim.

As he traveled, he could not help but think about the years that had passed since Elvina had made such advances on him. It had been five years and yet, the stinging realization that came to him when she had shown her true feelings for him had plagued him. He loved Arya, in this time and in his other time. She was beautiful, wise, dedicated, compassionate, and so much more. But did he want her to love him? Did he not want Arya to love this Alagaësia's Eragon? As much as he loved Arya, he did not want to take away her love and bereft his other self the chance to love her. He could only guard her until the time came and she met him once more—truly and honestly meet him, not this image of himself that he had made over fifty years ago.

Shaking his head of the dark thoughts that plague his mind, he glance upwards with a sigh. Nothing was ever easy. He smiled humorlessly as he felt Vrangr press against his back as if to tell him that his thought process was correct. _Even if she does not know it herself, _thought Eragon as he let the weight of Vrangr comfort him, _Vrangr is the testament of her love for me—in my Alagaësia._

Hurrying forward into the darkness made light by the flameless lanterns, he continued sprinting. It was only until he had long emerged from the mountain tunnel and onto the white expanse of land did he decide to rest. Taking shelter in an area near the mountain with a rock like overhang that kept the snow from falling onto him, he pulled is cloak closer to him. The Beor Mountains certainly looked different when viewing it during the winter time. The trees that surrounded the white mountains where covered in white snow, cold and seemingly dormant in their winter sleep. The Beartooth River rushed by but even the river sounded as if it were slowing and preparing itself for a long winter.

Not only were the plants preparing for the winter, he did not see any signs of animals that usually lived in the Beor Mountains about. The bears were gone, the deer missing, and the wolves unseen. It was as if someone had decided to muffle the life of the world during winter. Shifting his cloak about him even tighter, he leaned back against the rough surface of the mountain and let his waking dreams take him, trying his best to ignore the chilled tendrils the wind seared into his skin whenever it let out a breathy sigh against the mountain.

In his dreams, he thought of Saphira and then Arya and then Saphira and Arya together. But this time, images of Arya—both past and present—began to merge. It was almost as if dreams were taunting him, trying to question his feelings for both.

He tried to shake the thought as he continued to travel in the direction of Surda. It took him two days of sprinting and little rest to reach the approximate location where Faramir had reported that there had been attacks and from what Eragon saw, he could only agree with the young commander's words. Carts upon carts laid wrecked and destroyed on the snowy path. He saw a few bodies of their warriors, stripped of their armor and weapons, laid bare to the snow.

"What happened here?" murmured Eragon as he tugged his hood over his face to keep the chill of winter from buffeting his face. He turned over one of the soldiers, pale and frozen by the snow. His shirt showed a spot of dry blood from where he was stabbed in the gut. Moving on from that soldier to the other, he took in the arrow that had embedded itself in the warrior's back. It was not marked.

_So, it is not Galbatorix's men, _thought Eragon as he tugged the arrow free of the skin turning it about in his hand. The wood was sleek, and the barbed arrow head made him pause. He knew Galbatorix's army well enough to know without a doubt that any arrow released by the Black King's men would be marked with the sigil of the Empire.

This one, however, was not. _Bandits?_

The thought crossed his mind as he stared at the mess. Tossing the arrow to the side, he went to check the other warriors but there was no other clue as to who could have done such a thing. Not only that, but the snow had covered their tracks. Frowning as he sat atop one of the broken carts, he tried to think. He sat there, trying to think of the possible direction the culprits could have gone. If they were not part of the Empire than they could either be from Surda or they could be mere rogues. In any case, he highly doubted rogues or bandits would seek to return to Galbatorix's domain where poverty plagued the people and the lack of food made times hard. He did not think Surda would grant access to bandits who survived off of pillaging others. Therefore that left only one option: they lived somewhere about the Beor Mountains.

His thoughts trailed off as he sat there only to be startled into alertness when he heard the sound of something heading his way. He turned his eyes catching sight of a large beast circling the area. It lingered a few distances away before tentatively drawing near. He waited, not sensing any imminent danger from the creature and when it was close enough for him to make out properly, Eragon raised a brow in surprise.

Its fur was white making it hard to distinguish from the snowy landscape but as it circle the wagon that he sat on, he took in its deep yellow eyes and fangs like sabers. It was a Shrrg. He stared at the white wolf for a long moment watching as it stared at him curiously as if unable to make him out. _I must smell rather strange to it, _thought Eragon as he eyed the white wolf.

"If you do not harm me," Eragon spoke softly to the wolf in the ancient language willing the creature to understand his warning, "then I shall not harm you. I am not a foe to be trifled with, wolf." It sniffed at him, bearing its tear but did not attack. Instead, it swung its head towards the frozen corpses. "You would not want to eat them. They have been dead for some time now."

The Shrrg paused and lifted its large head to pin him with another stare as if to ask what he could eat. Eragon thought for a moment before an idea struck him. He stared long and hard at the wolf and found himself asking, "If you can lead me to the men who did this, I shall have a feast waiting for you in return," the white Shrrg blinked up at him.

After a moment, it tilted its head to the side as if to signal him to follow it. Nodding, Eragon easily jumped down from the wagon and came up to the large horse-like wolf. It sniffed him curiously before bounding away in the north eastern direction. He easily followed the wolf, not impeded by the snow as the Shrrg led him through the snow blanketed terrain. Easily keep a pace with the wolf, he blinked when the Shrrg led him to a rock like surface of one of the small mountains of the Beor Mountains, it whined slightly when Eragon hesitated.

Silently walking forward, he followed the Shrrg about the mountain before stopping before a cave that he had not noticed before. It glanced at him, before inching away into the darkness. Eragon followed, unsheathing Brisingr as he did so. Crouched and hidden in the darkness, he hurried along behind the Shrrg. It was quiet at first and all he could hear was the sound of the wind against the mouth of the cave but then he heard it, loud and rambunctious laughter.

Deep within the cave was a camp of over perhaps thirty to forty bandits all eating and drinking, dining as if they were having a feast fit for a king. His eyes darted about the rough looking men and paused on silver armor with the sigil of the Varden on it. They had their armor. Glancing about more, he caught sight of a simple sleek arrow and knew without a doubt that the men before him were the very same who had pillaged their carts.

He glanced at the Shrrg who had crouched against the ground to avoid being seen and whispered quietly to it in the ancient language, "Wait here," murmured Eragon as he tightened his grip on Brisingr. The wolf tilted his head as if to say that he understood Eragon's word.

Taking a deep breath, Eragon surged forward Brisingr flashing in his hands. Jumping into the light of the campfire, he sliced the throat of the nearest bandit to him before jumping to the next person. It took a full minute before they seemed to realize that they were being attacked and by then, Eragon had already slain five of their members.

"To arms everyone! We are under attack!" the leader, a tall brawny man with strong muscled arms and a bald head stood grabbing his axe in hand as Eragon turned to him letting their arrows and swords bounce off of his wards.

"He has magic!" another cried as another arrow bounced uselessly off of his wards.

Lifting his hands, Eragon lowered his hood to reveal his face watching as various degrees of shock and fear gripped at the bandits. Lifting Brisingr which was coated in blood, Eragon narrowed his eyes at them. "Had you not decided to attack our men and take our supplies, you would have lived very long and fruitful lives I believe."

"It's an elf!" another one said in disbelief. "The one they say that is from the Varden!"

At least they knew who he was. Flourishing Brisingr in his hands, he glanced about the camp. These were the very people who had robbed the Varden and killed their warriors more than once. And for that, he could not forgive. Reaching up with his free hand, he unsheathed Vrangr letting the silent hiss of it sliding from its sheath be the warning to his enemies.

Then without another word, he leapt forward faster than any of them could keep track off. Flitting from enemy to enemy, he easily cut away at them. It was easy to kill humans, thought Eragon, especially those without wards. A stab to the gut, a slice to the throat, or a pierce to the heart were all it took to cut them down.

A strangled gurgle left the lips of one more bandit as Eragon stabbed Vrangr through his throat, easily pulling his sapphire blade out. He heard a cry of fear and turned to find one of the bandits trying to scramble away from his life but the moment, he stepped foot out of the camp the white backed Shrrg pounced tearing its saber fangs into the man's throat. He heard the man's dying whimper before his body fell limp, the Shrrg eating away at his flesh.

Eragon frowned and with a flick of his swords, clean his blade of the blood. In a motion of his hands, he sheathed both blades and turned his gaze back on the bandits. Walking about the bodies that laid bleeding on the ground, he reached the leader who was gasping as he laid dying from a wound to his gut. Hovering over him, he watched as the man gazed up at him, not truly seeing him for his eyes were glazed over.

"They never told us that we would face an enemy like you," he said in a quiet groan.

"They?" prompted Eragon curious as to who they was.

The leader merely nodded, his face pale and white. "Had I known—I never would have—attacked your men…"

"Who is they?" Eragon asked once more. The man merely shook his head and after one last wheezing breath stilled. _They? _He frowned as he stared at the dead leader. Crouching, he searched the man to find nothing on him except for a heavy pouch of crowns. He sighed. It seemed as if the bandits were not acting alone in this matter. There was someone else behind the scene pulling the strings. Standing, he started when he heard the ripping of flesh and turned to find the Shrrg moving on to find more to eat.

Ignoring the beast, he continued about the camp trying to find some sort of clue to make sense of what it was that the leader could have been talking about. If what the man said was true, there was a greater enemy out there. As he walked, he blinked when he stepped on something that made him frown. Reaching down, he picked up a dark silver chain that was almost black. He stared at the pendant for a moment until to make out the strangeness of the jewelry. It seemed almost deadly.

Deciding to examine it for another time, he glance about at the supplies and such that filled the cave. He would have to bring the men who were waiting for him in Surda here so that they could gather their stolen supplies and return to the Varden once more.

As he was thinking, he blinked when he felt the Shrrg nudged his shoulder, its wet nose puffing a hot breath of air onto him. He stared at the creature before reaching up to stroke its muzzle watching as it blinked at him as if finally taking him for a friend rather than a foe.

"Thank you," said Eragon as the Shrrg purred softly tossing its head as if to accept the compliment. While he was absentmindedly stroking the Shrrg, his eyes wandered back to the bandits still trying to think of who it could be behind their actions.

_Someone is acting from the shadows and I do not think it is Galbatorix, _thought Eragon with a dark expression as the fire in the middle of camp crackled, eerily loud in the silence of the cave and his thoughts.

**Now, I understand that this chapter breaks away from the last but it's meant to to that since I want to emphasize how Elvina and Eragon seem to be trying to continue on by ignoring what happened between them which would only serve to add to their confrontation next. Also, I know many of you seem put out that Eragon rejected Elvina but it only makes sense since he's in love with Arya, I mean he's not the person that would get together with someone else simply because the one he wants doesn't realize his emotions. (If he does, that completely destroys his character in my opinion). In any case, I believe a confrontation is going to come up soon so await that moment and I am also trying my best to update quick but we shall see. Anyways, I hope to see you all soon!**


	30. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

**And so here is the next chapter everyone. Christmas is fast approaching! Has everyone done their shopping? In any case, just a note for this chapter. By this time Arya would have been with the Varden for 30 years by now if I did my math right (I lost the paper that I was keeping track of everything on, so I'm kind of all over the place looking for it). In any case, this chapter is going to be a lead in for what's to come in the following chapters, so everyone brace themselves! In any case, R&R!**

His entire body hurt. Shifting his muscles slightly, Eragon blinked. His mind was trying to register where he was but he could hardly make out his surroundings. His eyes did not want to focus and there was a dull buzzing in his ears, almost as if he was drunk. He shook his head, tugging on his hands only to find thick manacles encasing each of his wrists, the chains running upwards, attached to some high point on the concrete wall behind him. _Where was he? _The thought crossed his mind as he lifted his head slowly become aware of the fact that he was weaponless. The panic of losing Brisingr and Vrangr came to him slowly, the thick blanket in his mind dulling his senses.

_What happened? _Thought Eragon trying to think back to the events that led him up to this point.

"To be able to channel your magic, you must first reach back into the subconscious of your mind and grasp at the energy that lies there," said Eragon as he stood before the younger members of the Du Gata Vrangr while Rosalie taught the senior members. "That alone is the hardest task when it comes to magic, once you are able to grasp the energy that lies dormant in your mind, you need to channel it. The way to channel magic is through words—words of a language that is known as the ancient language, the elves' native tongue."

He held his right hand over the rock before him saying softly, "_Jierda_!"

The rock immediately gave away, turning into rubble and dust. Seeing their eyes widen in awe, Eragon smiled to himself slightly. He had felt the very same way when he was first introduced to magic. "But there are several rules that magicians must abide by in order to use magic without killing themselves, which many overambitious spellcasters have done in their lifetime. The most basic principle that a spellcaster must learn to obey is to understand their limit. You do not want to cast a spell that is too great for you. Or rather, you do not want to cast a spell that you do not have the energy for. For example, it is easy for you to move a rock the size of your fist. However, it is harder for you to move a boulder, and consequently, it is impossible for you to move a mountain."

"Expend too much energy and you will use up your very life in order to cast the spell," said Eragon as he gazed at the students before him. "How will you know the cost of a spell? The easiest way to answer this question is to think of it as in terms of balance. If you want to accomplish a task on a small degree, it shall not take as much energy. However, if you wish to accomplish a task that is much more difficult, you will find that the energy to do so will be much more."

"What if we do cast a spell that takes too much energy, Master Eragon?" asked Rhen, a young and timid woman who had no past nor history before she came to the Varden.

"End the spell before it consumes you," said Eragon. "Immediately stem the flow of energy that is being used to cast the spell. But you must be quick for at times your energy may leave you quickly and if you hesitate then the spell will take all the energy from your body."

Rhen nodded, her lips pursed and her expression slightly a mixture of apprehension and determination.

"Now that I have told you the most basic law to adhere to when casting spells, the next law that you will need to follow is that to use magic you must always use the ancient language," said Eragon, emphasizing how crucial the language was to the structure of magic. The final battle with Galbatorix in his first lifetime was enough to show him how important the ancient language was when it came to magic. When the traitorous king had called upon the true name of the ancient language and had changed the meaning of the words. It had caused their will over magic to fall away for without the proper means to channel their magic, their spells could not be casted and if they were, they did not carry out the task meant for them.

"Why use the ancient language?" asked another student, Staven. Eragon glanced at the young man who had refused to enlist into the army and had instead decided to take up the challenge of becoming a spellcaster. It was well known throughout the Varden that becoming a member of the Du Gata Vrangr was no easy task but Staven in his stubbornness had refused to yield when he showed no apparent talent in the areas of using magic. "Why use the elves' language?"

Unlike most others, Eragon knew exactly why magic depended on the elves' language. The ancient language was a form of communication with Alagaësia, it was the language of the land and from that connection they were able to use magic. However, instead of speaking the truth, Eragon merely said, "You must give words to what it is that you are trying to accomplish and the elves' language is one of magic for they are a magical race. I assume you have read of the Fair Folk, Staven?"

"I have," said Staven somewhat reluctantly.

"Then you should know that they are the only race that are naturally born with the gift of magic," said Eragon. "Their language is the base of magic and without it, we cannot case any spells. It has always been so."

"Can you cast magic without the use of the ancient language?" Andrel, the son of one of the Council of Elders—Ezekiel—asked. Eragon glanced at the young boy barely in his second decade. His father, Ezekiel was a part of the council and an advisor to Deynor in regards to the economy of the Varden. While Ezekiel was a reasonable man with a good head upon his shoulders, his son was much different from his father. Coddled by his mother, Andrel turned out to be a rather condescending youth that seemed to believe that he had the right to do as he pleased in the Varden. He did not understand why Andrel wanted to join Du Gata Vrangr but he did.

"No," said Eragon glad that Andrel had brought up a crucial point in the use of magic. "If you dare to cast magic without the use of the ancient language than you are ensuring your own death. Even masters of magic dare not cast magic without speaking the ancient language for if you do not give your energy boundaries, your will may be misunderstood and the spell may end up destroying you."

He was about to continue when the door to the chamber was thrown open and Faramir swept in, dressed in his armor as if he was about to ready his charger for combat. Eragon blinked in surprise taking in the silver of his dwarven armor and the purple of his cape with the Varden's sigil on it. His students did not pause in their work as Faramir immediately made his way to Eragon. When the commander was upon him, Eragon raised a brow.

"My apologies Eragon, sir," said Faramir his voice low and urgent. "Deynor requests your presence. A dire matter is upon us."

Eragon frowned, his brows furrowed but he did not protest Faramir's words. Instead he turned to his students. "It appears that I am needed," said Eragon as he took in their dismayed expressions. "Though I am leaving to see my other obligations, I fully expect all of you to be well versed in the laws of magic when I return. And if you have any questions, the senior members of Du Gata Vrangr will be there to assist you."

"Of course, master," they murmured quietly as they bowed their heads to him. He nodded satisfied and gestured for Faramir to lead the way. Exiting the chamber, Eragon glanced to the side as his Shrrg companion—named Veric by Elvina—moved to his feet. Unlike the first time the Shrrg had taken to following Eragon, he had not made any moves against the animal. Five years ago, when he had met Veric, the Shrrg had taken a liking to Eragon and had followed him all the way back to the Varden.

If there was one thing that he remembered upon his return, it was the reaction of the women to his newfound companion. They all had the same reaction and it consisted of pure amusement. Elvina had laughed so hard that she was unable to talk to him for a day until she was able to gain some semblance of herself. Afterwards, she had insisted upon naming the Shrrg and he merely let her do as she pleased. It was not like the Shrrg belonged to him. The large wolf merely decided to follow him. But he could not deny how useful a Shrrg was in hindsight. Due to its acute senses, it was able to up on things much quicker than any guard dog could.

Veric tossed his large white head and turned his amber eyes on Eragon. He blinked before turning his head forward, following behind Eragon and Faramir. Eragon, too, turned back to Faramir. From the tension that lanced the commander's posture, he knew that whatever it was that was troubling Faramir was not something to be taken lightly. Rather than asking about it, he instead decided to approach a different and more pleasant subject.

"I have heard word that you are to be married soon, Faramir," said Eragon conversationally as they walked. The commander had the grace to look pleased and embarrassed as Eragon brought up the conversation. Faramir as Eragon came to learn was betrothed to Sophia Reiltsdaughter, the beautiful daughter of the master blacksmith within the Varden.

"Aye," said Faramir with a nod. "We are set to be married in summer in the center of Tronjheim, underneath the Isidar Mithrim."

"I believe I have yet to congratulate you on such," said Eragon with a slight smile. It was odd to think of Faramir marrying and eventually starting his own family. "It is time that we have a good cause to celebrate to."

"Thank you, sir," said Faramir nodding his head. His expression grew troubled. "In truth, I would have asked for you to marry the two of us…but as tradition dictates…"

"It will not bode well for you marriage if an elf were to marry you," Eragon finished for him since he was having trouble doing so himself. "I understand Faramir. Though I have been part of the Varden for several decades, human traditions have lasted much longer. You were right in being cautious. The sentiment was enough."

"Still," said Faramir his expression set. "This discrimination will not do. You and Lady Arya have done so much for our cause that I feel ill-mannered that there are still those who would think wrongly of your people's customs. If we defeat Galbatorix, we must learn to become more open minded with the other races that dwell within Alagaësia else we will simply find ourselves in a circle of war and discrimination."

Eragon blinked, surprised at Faramir's insight. Though Faramir was still young—only in his late twenties—his thought process was ahead of his time. _If he was alive during the war, _thought Eragon, _he would have made a fine leader indeed._

"Perhaps in time your thoughts will be heard," said Eragon with a slight smile as he nodded in agreement. "But not now. Remember Faramir that minds take centuries to change. You cannot will them to do so if they do not wish to. Just know that if you force your will on others even if they are with good intentions, you shall be no different from Galbatorix."

"Yes, I understand," said Faramir quietly, his forehead creased.

"You are a good man Faramir," said Eragon with a smile. "It is rare to find someone of your fortitude, especially in trying times."

The two of them reached the door to Deynor's office. Walking inside behind the commander of the Varden, Eragon was greeted with the sight of Arya and Deynor standing about a folded table. What surprised him the most was the fact that standing beside Deynor's right hand was his father, Brom. Having not seen Brom in several years, Eragon blinked.

"Eragon, you have arrived," said Deynor with nod. "Thank you Faramir."

"It is of little concern my lord," said Faramir.

Eragon glanced behind him as the door closed watching as Veric curled up outside the door of the study, making the guards standing outside rather nervous. It was only natural to have such feelings in the face of such a large animal thought Eragon as he moved to stand beside Arya and across Brom.

"It has been a while, Eragon," said Brom with a smile, his blue eyes as piercing and perceptive as since the day he had first met his father after the battle for the City of Ilirea. Despite the smile, however, there was something in Brom's posture that struck Eragon as odd.

"Yes it has been," said Eragon with a nod. "I am surprised to see you here. I would have thought you were off trying to do away with the Forsworn. Last I heard was that you managed to kill Adyona." The death of that particular woman had been rather violet or so he had heard. It was well known that the weakness of a Rider was their dragon and Brom had exploited that weakness greatly when it came to Adyona. She had gone into a mad rage and mindlessly attacked Brom until he had managed to slip past her defenses and killed her with a stab in the heart.

"That has not changed," said Brom. His smile disappeared and was replaced with a frown. "However, there has been slight complications."

"Such as?" prompted Eragon as he turned to face Deynor.

The leader of the Varden turned to him grim faced. "One of our scouts reported that there have been activities in the tunnel leading to the Varden from the west."

"Activities?" repeated Eragon confused while Arya's emerald eyes became sharp.

"Have they been able to identify who?" Arya asked momentarily shaking Eragon from his thought process. He glanced at the elf maiden beside him. It was hard to imagine that she would be part of the Varden for thirty years now and yet she looked exactly how he had left her one day long ago in Ellesméra when he was preparing to join the Varden himself. Her beauty had not changed. The only change in Arya was her demeanor. She had lost the laughter of her youth and her eyes were deep with the depth of her years serving the Varden.

Even then, she was not the Arya he knew in his other timeline. This Arya had yet to grow indifferent and aloof—had yet to detach herself completely from the world around her. His thoughts were pulled away from Arya when Deynor answered her question. "Our scout believes that they are bandits."

"Bandits?" repeated Eragon, his brows furrowed. What would bandits be doing here?

"Not just bandits," said Faramir with a scowl. "Urgals as well."

"Bandits and Urgals?" Brom repeated in disbelief. "Never had I heard of Urgals allying themselves with rogues."

Neither had Eragon. He tried to think and give evidence to his thoughts but nothing came to him. All that he could think of was the fact that bandits were heading way to the Varden. Had the Varden been attacked by bandits in the past before? Had he not known about it? And then there were the Urgals. _Could Durza possibly be with them, _thought Eragon eyes wide. _Could he be the one leading the bandits and Urgals?_

"They mean to attack?" asked Arya her eyes narrowed.

"We can only assume," said Deynor. "It is sudden but we number their forces to be between three hundred to possibly four hundred and fifty. No more."

_Such a small force, _thought Eragon with a frown. He had remembered something like this before. A small force would do little good against the Varden which was totaling over eight thousand warriors alone at the moment—all of which were well trained and disciplined. They were merely a distraction thought Eragon. They wanted something else. But what could it be? He thought about it for a long moment his eyes darting about the room. Each and every person standing in Deynor's office was of importance to the cause of the Varden.

_Perhaps, they wanted them?_

No, that wasn't correct. Deynor was valuable only in relation to his position. Killing him would demoralize the Varden. His eyes darted to his father. Brom as he had been told by Galbatorix countless times when he was younger was a meddlesome rebel whom Galbatorix merely let him have his way, not bothered enough to actually deal with him. Faramir was just a commander of the Varden and therefore did not pose much of a value to Galbatorix. His eyes darted to Arya. Could she be the reason why such a small force was making their way through the tunnels at this moment? At the thought of them capturing Arya, his stomach lurched and he felt a great surge of anger begin to well up in him.

He would never let them have Arya.

"We will not need all of our warriors to fight them," said Eragon, his voice hard and determined. "A thousand men at most, those remaining shall guard the entrances to the other tunnels to make certain that we are not being lulled into a false sense of confidence."

"They want something," murmured Brom with a frown. "No one throws away their life for nothing whether they be Urgals or bandits."

"We shall wipe their forces clean before they can have a chance to carry out whatever it is that they are planning," said Deynor with a hard expression. "Faramir, you ready the warriors. It is as Eragon said, a thousand men at the most. Send for a runner to have my armor ready as well—"

"You will lead from the rear, Deynor," said Eragon effectively cutting across the leader of the Varden. All eyes in the room flickered to him. "Both you and Faramir shall issue command from the rear of our forces."

Deynor's eyes flickered to the map, back to Eragon, and then to Faramir as he thought before he nodded. "And what of you? Will you be by my side as well?"

Eragon shook his head. "No, I shall fight at the front of our lines. If something goes awry, I shall do my utmost to give you and Faramir a time to retreat farther into Tronjheim to regroup. Though I do not expect it to come to such."

"What would you have of me, Eragon?" asked Brom waiting for his instructions.

"You as well as Arya," his eyes flickered to her, "are free to do as you will. I trust that the two of you understand your own capabilities and are able to use it to the Varden's advantage."

"I shall fight by your side," said Arya without hesitation while Brom grunted his answer.

"If you do not mind my company Deynor, I shall fight by your side," said Brom, his eyes flickering to Eragon giving him the barest hint of a nod. Eragon blinked trying to convey his gratitude to his father. He would be there to guard Deynor in case anything went wrong.

"Your sword will be appreciated, Brom," said Deynor with a nod. His eyes darted to Eragon and Arya. "I shall have a runner fetch light armor for the two of you and you as well Brom." He gestured to the farthest tunnel to the west of the Tronjheim. "The bandits and Urgals shall emerge from this tunnel. We shall go and see to it that they do not move far from this entrance point and into Tronjheim."

"Have you alerted King Hrothgar and the dwarves?" asked Eragon as they all straightened, staring at one another with grim faced determination.

"Yes, he shall be standing by in the rear in case anything were to befall us," said Deynor moving about the folded table, Faramir and Brom following him. Eragon and Arya fell to the rear. "Head towards the armory, my runner should have the light armor set aside for the two of you. Brom, Faramir, with me."

With that the three of them headed off. Eragon turned to Arya and they shared a nod before hurrying to the armory. It was a short run from Deynor's office and when they entered, the warriors of the Varden which were called to battle were clasping their silver armor to their body readying their weapons as they did so. Sparing little greetings, Eragon and Arya were pointed to the back of the armory where light armor waited for them.

"Are you worried?" asked Arya as Eragon roughly tugged on his gauntlets, shifting them on his arms. He watched as Arya shifted her hair back, redoing her headband as she did so. She turned to Eragon and he felt a flash of memory of another Arya before him standing proud with Támerlein handing from her right hip. Blinking the memory away, he watched as Arya took the helm that laid waiting for him to don on the table.

"No," said Eragon quietly as she took a step closer to him, her eyes were bright and shining as if she was seeing him for the first time. "Bandits and Urgals are easy enough to handle. I am just afraid that there may be something that we are overlooking."

"Whatever it is," said Arya as she reached up with the helm to settle it upon his head, "We will face it together."

Her words made his heart thud in his chest even when he knew she did not mean it the way that he wanted her to. Smiling at her, he nodded as he adjusted Vrangr and Brisingr. Turning back to Arya, he reached up to gently brush her hair back from her face watching as her emerald eyes widened ever so slightly as she stood before him. But she did not reject him. His smile widened. "I do not say this because I feel that you are incapable Arya, but take care of yourself during the fighting," said Eragon.

"You as well," said Arya with a nod. The two of them stood there, Eragon's metal gloved hand lingering on her cheek before he withdrew it. He wanted to lean in and press his lips to hers but he stopped himself. Instead, he merely straightened and turned to leave, his metal boots clanking against the ground softly.

"We should leave to join the ranks," said Eragon softly leading the way out of the armory. Outside, Veric was pacing now clad in silver armor that was made specifically for him from the dwarves.

"Odd to think that Veric has been following you for five years now," said Arya as the two of them continued towards the western tunnel of Farthen Dûr, Veric following behind them looking fearsome in his armor.

"Despite all of my intentions against him doing so," said Eragon dryly as Arya laughed lightly.

"A lone wolf no more," she said which made him smile faintly.

"I suppose so," agreed Eragon.

Presently, he groaned his head pounding as he tried to pull out the faint details of the battle that ensued afterwards. It was not a large battle. He could remember the Urgals and bandits breaking free from the mouth of the tunnel, brandishing their swords and shields but before they could reach the warriors at the front lines, the archers at the rear and volleyed them with hundreds of arrows easily cutting their numbers down one by one. And when their enemies were close enough, Deynor had ordered the spearmen forward.

Eragon and Arya, both of whom had fought on the front lines, had charged with their men easily slicing down the foes in their path. He groaned shaking his head as he tried to clear the cloud that hovered over the memory of the battle. _What happened? _The question kept plaguing him but he found it falling from his grasp.

He remembered fighting close to the mouth of the tunnel, Arya a few paces away from him easily holding her own against the onslaught. Eragon blinked, his eyes fighting to focus on the details of his prison as his mind tried to sharpen in clarity. He remembered turning to be greeted with bright blond hair and unnatural red eyes and a feral smirk. Then there was a cold feeling in his gut and blackness overtook him.

Taking in a deep breath, Eragon glanced down at his stomach where he had been injured. Rather than the light armor that he was dressed up in for the battle, he was wearing fine clothing fit for a noble which surprised him. The white tunic that adorned his torso was a deep red and clung to his left side. He shifted against the cold hard ground and quietly groaned.

It hurt too much to move.

Eragon wasn't sure how long he stayed there, sitting with his legs stretched out before him, his back against the concrete wall, and his arms hanging by his sides with manacles clasped over each wrist. _How was the Varden? Was Arya unharmed? What were Deynor and Faramir doing now? _He tried to think of valid answers to such questions but they eluded his grasp. Lifting his head up, he glanced about the empty chamber with a high window to his right fit for a mockingbird to perch upon and feeble rays of light to pour through and then the heavy metal door across from him which appeared heavily fortified.

Where was he?

The chamber did not seem like a prison in any of the cities in which he had visited in the Empire. Craning his head about, he sighed leaning back against the wall, waiting for someone to come and tell him where he was.

As time passed, his mind became sharper and eventually his senses were slowly regaining their acuteness. He could hear large puffs of air outside the window, footsteps above him, low voices speaking to one another, someone chopping something, a squeal of an animal, a squelch of meat, and much more. If he hadn't known better he would have thought that a farm waited outside his stone prison. But he knew better and he knew that wherever he was imprisoned, no farm laid close by.

"Let's see…" murmured Eragon as he twisted his hand in his manacle to grab the chain that was attached to the wall. He gave it a tug and frowned when it did not give way. The metal was protected with magic it seemed. He tried to reach for his own magic but it was as he had suspected, the blanket that covered his mind refused to let him venture into his reservoir of energy. He was drugged. Releasing the chain, he let his hand fall to the ground surprised when he heard a soft thud of something hard hitting the ground.

Turning his left hand over, his eyes widened at the sight of Aren. His captors hadn't thought to remove the ring from his hand? He thought before he shook his head. If he couldn't reach for his magic in his own mind, he couldn't reach for the energy stored in the ring. It was useless as long as he was drugged.

A creak from the metal door that guarded his prison caught his attention. He lifted his head and watched as a tall human walked in dressed in dark armor. His bright blond hair was slicked back looking as if it was recently washed. "Looks like our prisoner is awake," said Darius with a smirk as he strode forward confidently into the concrete chamber, his metal boots clanking against the ground. His red eyes were gleaming dangerously and hips lips pulled back into a sneer. "To think the others thought I wouldn't have been able to capture you."

"So you were what the bandits were hiding," said Eragon as his mind tried to make sense of the fact that one of the remaining Forsworn stood before him.

"Surprised to see me?" asked Darius as he stopped before Eragon his eyes moving towards the dark red stain on his tunic. The glint in his eyes grew. "I apologize for the injury but that was the only way I could take you with me from that underground hole the dwarves call their home."

"What do you want?" asked Eragon not bothering to play Darius's game with him.

"Not much what I want," said Darius his expression transforming into something dark and ominous. "King Galbatorix issued an order that you be brought to him. And I wasn't going to lose to the likes of Durza."

"Durza?" What was Darius saying? His mind began to buzz again and he closed his eyes trying to fight off the pain that was beginning to pick up once more.

Darius stared at him for a long moment, his red eyes sweeping the chamber before landing on the open window. He was silent and then as if deciding that Eragon was worthy of what he was about to say, he spoke once more. "The King wishes that we bring you to him and has ordered either the Forsworn or Durza to do so. Of course, as Dragon Riders were weren't going to be outsmarted by a mere Shade."

_So that was it, _thought Eragon as he blinked again once more feeling light headed. The area where he was stabbed was beginning to flare up in pain that he hadn't realize was there earlier. He blinked and dimly, he heard the sound of light footsteps make their way to this chamber.

"Is he awake, Darius?" he paused when he heard the familiar bell-like voice that was both haughty and beautiful. Lifting his head, Eragon blinked as his eyes focused on the figure in the doorway. She stood tall and proud wearing fine clothing, a brow sword hanging from her left hip, her piercing blue eyes sharp. Her brows were slanted, her ears pointed and her features angular like those of the elves'.

_Elvina…_

"Finally decided to make your presence known, have you, Formora?" asked Darius turning to her.

Her eyes were on Eragon as she made her way into the chamber. "There is no need to be rude, especially not since you decided to suddenly take use of my estates," her eyes turned back to Eragon and her red lips curled downward at the ends as she took in his state. "I suppose we meet once more…Eragon."

**I hope I delivered with this chapter. A reviewer mentioned having Eragon captured and they read my mind (I always planned to have Arya's and Eragon's roles somewhat reversed in this story and this was one of them). In any case, the next few chapters will probably be a struggle, particularly for Formora since her role becomes more revealed. Faolin will join the story soon (even though he seems like a character who appears often enough to conflict with Eragon). In any case, I hope you are all waiting in anticipation for the chapters to come! See you all soon! And if I don't post before Christmas! Merry Christmas everyone! Have a lovely holiday with friends and family!**


	31. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

**And so another chapter everyone! It's Christmas Eve and I'm uploading this before I go out and immerse myself in last minute Christmas shopping! (Has everyone done theirs yet?) In any case, I read over the reviews and there were a few questions that stuck out to me. The biggest one is whether or not the other Eragon would grow up like he did in RL or in CP's canon. I really don't have a specific answer for this but I can say for sure that he will not be entirely like CP's Eragon. That's all for now. And this isn't really a concern but it's somewhat funny that some of you all are shipping Eragon with Formora. (So I guess you'll like this chapter in a way). In any case, have fun reading! This is my Christmas present to you all! R&R!**

Eragon merely stared at her not hearing what it was that Darius was saying. All of this time, Elvina had been Formora. He felt his hands clench into fists by his side. It had always irked him where Elvina came from all of those years ago. She was a random woman whom he had met on the streets of Aberon—a woman whom he had saved from the aggression of drunkards. He had always thought that she was strange when she had followed him, demanding that he purchase that scarf for her. And then when she had appeared before him after the attempt on his life. There was always an inkling that Elvina was never someone to be taken lightly. Time had only served to strengthen that statement.

_I should have known, _thought Eragon as he sat there gazing at Formora but not truly seeing her for who she was. Instead, all he could see was Elvina—the sarcastic and intrusive woman that had been one of his companions for the last three decades. She had followed him to the Varden and had barged into his life with indifference and scorn. And he hadn't trusted her at first. It had been suspicious and questioning. How could a woman travel the breadth of Surda to Farthen Dûr when she couldn't fend for herself in broad daylight against several drunkards? He had checked her mind and had given her the benefit of the doubt when it came to whatever it was that he saw. She hadn't proven to be an enemy at that time and he understood how it felt to be accused of something only by appearance in his past life.

So he had trusted her. He had allowed her to stay in the Varden and bother him constantly when she was traveling. _Traveling, _thought Eragon darkly as he continued to watch Formora as she spoke with Darius in a bored tone. _She wasn't traveling. She was caring our Galbatorix's plans, no doubt. _How naïve of him to think that all of those times that Elvina had gone missing, she was merely traveling. Now, it made sense why Elvina disappeared for long lengths of time randomly.

_I should have known, _thought Eragon mirthlessly laughing inwardly. He closed his eyes trying to block out the sight of Formora and her betrayal. He had wanted to trust her. He had wanted to trust in Elvina and become a good friend to her. She had reminded him of himself when he was younger—harsh, biting, and isolated. Most of all, she seemed so alone to him that he had wanted to help ease her loneliness even if that meant that it would lead to scathing banters and many migraines. That was why he never questioned her. She had never given him a reason to think the worst of her despite her crude remarks.

He opened his eyes and felt another wave of betrayal as he glanced at Formora. Had she been part of the orchestrated attack so that they could capture him? Had she known that he would undervalue his own life in comparison to the others? He wanted to rage at her but could not find the strength to, instead he merely shook his head trying to clear his mind. There was a momentary sharp clarity in his mind before it was suddenly gone.

"When will the others arrive, Darius?" asked Formora lifting her hand to signal to the other Rider that she was growing tired of the conversation. Eragon blinked remembering at times when Elvina had used to do the same thing when she was bored or annoyed.

"I give it a few days' time," said Darius, his blood red eyes flickering to Eragon. "Do you think you can handle our prisoner? Or should I see to his _care_?" Darius' emphasis on care made Eragon's hands twitch slightly. He hated the feeling of being week and here he was, chained up and at their feet. It was pathetic.

"We have orders not to kill him, Darius," said Formora with a frown, her blue eyes darting to Eragon and away as if she could not stand to look at him. "Galbatorix would be displeased if he dies before he reaches Urû'baen for questioning."

"I suppose we would not want that," said Darius with a scowl. A few moments later, his twisted expression turned into a smirk. "Though I cannot say that his Majesty has not told us to do anything short of death."

"Have you been finding yourself in Durza's company often?" asked Formora with a raised brow as she eyed Darius. "Perhaps his blood thirst has been influencing you too much."

"Durza?" Darius scoffed. "Do not compare me to that Shade." He turned to leave, his eyes flickering back to Eragon. "I have not forgotten the injury you dealt to my dragon long ago, elf. I swear to you that I shall return for my vengeance."

With that he swept out of the chamber, the metal door closing behind him. Eragon wanted to snort at Darius's words. The man could not scare him. He had faced a worst imprisonment in another life. He closed his eyes and almost instantly without him willing it to, the memory of hanging limp from the manacles that bound him returned to him as well as seeing Arya suffer beside him.

_This time I am alone, _thought Eragon. _Was this how Arya felt when she was captured? Not knowing about anything but her own fate?_

There were light footsteps and he blinked when Formora's reached his ears, soft and strange, "How are you feeling?"

Eragon tensed and felt a wave of anger course through him. She had the audacity to ask of him such a question? _How was he feeling? _This time, he snorted derisively as he kept his eyes trained on the ground refusing to look at her or else he would have been reminded of Elvina—the woman whom he considered his friend.

"Is this your idea of humor?" asked Eragon coldly as he sat there, his hands still balled into fists.

"Eragon—"

"Whatever it is that you are planning, _Formora," _said Eragon cutting across her harshly, "I do not care. There is no need for you to stand here and speak to me as if we are friends. You can drop such false ideas."

"I had thought we were friends," said Formora. He laughed darkly. Unable to help himself, Eragon lifted his head to stare at her. Formora's beauty was unchanging since the first time he had met her. Everything that was Elvina shown through her with the only difference being that her features were elven and angular instead of human and round.

"No," said Eragon shaking his head, his lips pressed together as he tried to close out Elvina's betrayal from his heart and the dull throbbing in his skull that kept a tight hold on his mind. "Elvina was my friend, not the Forsworn by the name of Formora."

He saw her flinch slightly before a sound of anger left her. Before he knew it, she was crouched before him in one fluid and elegant motion, her hands reaching out to take his face, jerking him roughly towards her. "I am still her."

"No," Eragon repeated once more, taking in her deep blue eyes—eyes that he'd thought he'd known in the past three decades. "Everything about Elvina did not truly exist. It was all a façade. It was your lie, Formora. Everything about Elvina was a lie—her past, her person, everything."

Formora shook her head, her expression fierce as she pinned him underneath her stare. "Not everything about Elvina was a lie, Eragon. I had never meant you harm," at the last part, Eragon laughed in disbelief. Was he going into shock? Was that why he felt so numb? Her expression seemed to turn into one akin of pain at his reaction to her words. "I meant it when I said it Eragon. I had never meant you harm. Not when I first met you and not now."

"Then why? Why did you follow me? Why were you so interested in who I am if not to capture me and bring me to your master?" asked Eragon calmly shifting his hands, his chains rattling slightly as he did so. Formora's eyes flickered to his clenched hands and tentatively she reached out to run her fingers over his left hand, uncurling his fingers so she could see the cuts that his nails had pierced into his skin. Her lips curled downwards even more.

"If I had wanted to capture or kill you, I would have done so all those times in which you and I were together at the Varden," said Formora her voice harsh as if she was willing him to understand what it was that she was saying. "I never joined the Varden for Galbatorix or for the glory of the Forsworn. I never wanted to be a spy. I only wanted to know you because I was interested in you and who you were."

"Why?" asked Eragon simply, his voice a soft murmur as his eyes darted to the high window on the wall. There was another flash of memory as the image of his tortures when he was a child appeared before him. He had been locked in a chamber similar to this but he had never been chained up like a dog. No, he had been given false hope at the sight of a window far above him. At least here, the Forsworn had made sure to restrain him. They did not give him false hope but rather the truth of his fate.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" asked Formora quietly, her fingers still gently stroking the skin of his left hand, her other hand tracing his jaw line. Reluctantly Eragon nodded. He had remembered how he had met her when she was bathing near the Beor Mountains. "Darius and I had been ordered to scout the Beor Mountains for a few days by Galbatorix because he wanted to see for signs of any of the dwarves' activities. And when you stumbled across me, I was threatened but I was also curious—curious as to why an elf was in the Beor Mountains and away from the safety of Du Weldenvarden. And what was more was that you were also a Rider."

Formora paused as if she was trying to gather her thoughts. Then she reached out to take his right hand which was still clutched into a fist and unraveled his fingers despite his reluctance but he was too weak to deny her. Her blue eyes darted away from his face and towards his gedwëy ignasia. "You said you were a Rider but I did not believe you until I saw your swords…and even then I was still interested because I have never met nor heard of a Rider named Eragon," her gaze returned to his and it was but questioning and curious. "I am not lying when I say that I remember each and every student there was on Vroengard and training in Doru Araeba. But I have never heard of you and so I was curious as to who you were and why in my time I had never heard of your existence."

Eragon blinked, his muscles tensing at her words. He should have known that Formora had come to such a thought process. In his time that he had spent with her, she had shown herself to be quite perceptive. It shouldn't have been a surprise to think so but when she had openly told him how strange his existence was to her, he could not help but feel as if she knew his deepest secret.

"And so I sought you out," explained Formora. "I wanted to know the answers for myself. I wanted to know who you were and why you were fighting for the Varden—for such a useless cause."

"It is not useless," said Eragon defiantly forgetting that he was chained up and at her mercy. Even with fire in his eyes, Formora ignored him.

"Then not useless but impossible," amended Formora with a shake of her head. Her blue eyes became clouded and he thought he saw a hint of sadness in them. "Because you sought to go against Galbatorix, you are here now and imprisoned until we set you before him."

"For him to break me, you mean?" asked Eragon watching as she closed her eyes to take in a deep breath before nodding.

"Yes."

"Then I suppose you will get your wish then," said Eragon. "When your king breaks me, you shall have all of your answers…are you satisfied, Formora?"

"I never wanted this," whispered Formora. "I asked you to leave. I asked you to run but you would not listen to me. You kept to your stubbornness and it has led you here. This is war, Eragon. You may not see it but it is. Galbatorix will not give up until everyone in Alagaësia is at his mercy."

Eragon blinked, narrowing his eyes at her as he digested her words. "You knew that Galbatorix wanted me," he said pinning her with his stare. "That was why you wanted me to run. That was why you wanted me to leave."

She seemed to struggle for words before she nodded. "He was always interested in the elf that seemed to be keeping the Varden company—in both you and Arya," at the mention of Arya, Eragon felt himself twitch on the spot. Had Arya been captured? His eyes darted about the chamber only to reaffirm that he was alone in his imprisonment. Seeing his anxiety, Formora reached forward to place a hand on his chest and still his actions. "Arya is unharmed. The moment Darius captured you, those remaining retreated from the battle in order to cover Darius's escape."

A breath of relief left him. She was safe. He felt Formora's fingers curl slightly against the fabric of his tunic and he blinked as he lifted his eyes up to hold her gaze. "You care for her greatly," observed Formora. Eragon did not answer her afraid that if he did, his affections for Arya would be seen. "Do not worry, Galbatorix is not nearly as interested in her as he is you. He does not care for the elven ambassador but for the Rider that seems to staunch his progress and kill off his valuable servants."

"If they were not all intent on killing me than perhaps I would not have killed them off," said Eragon near glaring at Formora.

She stared at him for a moment before a faint smile traced across her lips and when it did, he was surprised by how he saw Elvina in her. "Even now you are still finding time for humor," said Formora. "I suppose that is one of the reasons why I always found you so interesting."

The next thing he knew, Elvina took his face in her hands and pulled her towards him before pressing her lips to his. The chains rattled as he tried to steady himself, so surprised by her actions that he could not comprehend what was happening. She gently nibbled on his bottom lip before soothing the sting with her tongue before pulling away, her blue eyes gleaming with her emotions.

"Even as a prisoner you are still appealing," with that said she stood, moving to her feet. Judging by the closed off expression on her face, he knew that whatever moment that they had together had ended and she was back to as she was—a Forsworn first and Elvina second. She moved towards the door and opened it, her blue eyes never leaving his. "Stay strong, Eragon."

With that said, she was gone, the heavy metal door closing behind her as she swept outside the chamber. Eragon stared at her and once more he felt his frustration peak at the enmity that was Formora. It made no sense to him what her intentions were. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes as he tried to think of what was going to become of him. _At least Arya was safe, _thought Eragon.

He shifted where he sat. His side burned as he agitated his wound. Letting his thoughts wonder, Eragon found himself thinking of Elvina—Formora—once more. She had been interested in who he was and where he came from. She knew that he was never a part of the Order on Vroengard but she'd never questioned him about it until now. And even then she never forced him for the answers. _Were these feelings real?_

She had insisted that not everything about Elvina was a lie but he found himself unable to truly believe her. Instead, Eragon merely let his waking dreams take him. He had never thought the day would come that he would mourn the loss of Elvina even if she never truly existed. For nearly thirty years she had been a companion of his in the Varden. Unlike Angela, Rosalie, and Arya he had always felt that he could relate to Elvina in a way. He had thought she understood him. _We both lived lies, _thought Eragon. How could he blame Formora when he was the same as her?

Letting his thoughts wonder, he sat there dreaming and waiting or perhaps he was stuck in between. There was no mark of time in the chamber apart from the change of day and night that he could see through the window. It was relatively silent as he sat there. No one came to bother him and he was given food three times a day. At first he had tried to not eat but the pain in his side forced him to else Arya's magic wouldn't be able to heal the wound fully. And so he ate, despite his mind telling him that the food was no doubt laden with drugs.

It wasn't until the third day that he had awoken in his captivity did his door open once more but this time it was not Darius or Formora. A tall man as pale as alabaster strode through. His hair was dark red and his eyes a matching color, both features contrasting with him pale skin. He wore dark clothing and a thin sword hung on his right hip. Even without introductions, Eragon knew who he was instantly.

"I had not believed that fool Darius when he said that you were captured but it seems as if there was more truth to his words than I gave him credit for," said Durza with a sneer as he stared down at Eragon. He stopped before Eragon. "Do you know who I am, elf?"

"Durza," said Eragon with narrowed eyes remembering vividly how the shade had tortured Arya. His arms instinctively shifting as if to make a grab for his swords. He blinked as he sat there. What had happened to his swords? He couldn't remember if he had dropped them during the battle or not. "The Shade that works for Galbatorix aren't you?"

"You are rather intelligent," said Durza as he stopped before Eragon. "My name precedes me it seems if you are able to recognize me."

"What do you want?" asked Eragon glaring at the Shade. He refused to show any sort of fear when dealing with Durza. He had always hated the man in his other life and despised him even more now that he stood before him. This was the man who had tortured Arya and had forced her demons awake.

Arya, who had always been strong and resilient, had changed when she was tortured by Durza. He was the one who had taken away Fäolin and Glenwing from her. He was the one who had caused her a great amount of pain. He had poisoned her, tortured her for information, and had allowed his men to see if they could take their pleasures from her. Had she not been strong enough to defend herself, he wasn't sure what state he would have found Arya in when he had visited Gil'ead. The thought of an unworthy, soldier touching Arya made his anger boil and his stomach turn.

"Information," said Durza simply his maroon eyes glinting maliciously. "I have orders from the king to extract as much information from you as I can before I deliver you to him. You see, his Majesty is a busy person and if I can break you for him, it will make his tasks all the more easier."

_Break? _In a flash of motion, Durza was upon him forcing upon his mouth to pour a deadly black liquid down his throat. Spluttering, Eragon struggled to spit the liquid back up but was unable to as the shade kept a deadly grip on his chin, keeping his mouth closed. He tilted his head back and forced the liquid down his throat. He blinked as the liquid reached his stomach and almost immediately an overwhelming amount of pain erupted in him. His veins seared with fire and he felt his heart beat unsteadily as his mind began to slide out of focus. _What did he do to me?_

"Do you know what I just gave you?" Even Durza's voice sounded far off to his ears. Struggling to sit up, he felt frustration compete with the fiery agony that ripped through his body as he body slumped against the wall feeling weak and faint. There was a laugh before Durza spoke once more. "Flowing through your body as of this instance is the deadliest poison in Alagaësia—the Skilna Bragh. One dose is enough to kill you within days. Any bigger, you will die in hours. This is to prevent you to escape though I doubt once I am through with you that you would be able to even lift a finger."

_Do not show weakness, _thought Eragon in a daze as he listened to Durza. His body seared with pain once more and his heartbeat began to slow before speeding up, trying to keep his body from stagnating due to the poison. He fought a grimace as another jolt of pain surged through his veins spreading from his torso to the ends of his toes and fingers.

"Guards!"

The door was thrown open and he heard the sound of heavy footsteps enter the stone chamber. Then a deep voice spoke, trembling slightly with nervousness. "Yes, Lord Durza?" Lifting his head, Eragon turned to find two young guards dressed in light armor waiting for Durza's bidding.

"Release him and bring him to the torture chamber," said Durza, a hint of bloodlust in his voice as he said so.

There was a slight moment of hesitation from the guards before they hurried forward producing a heavy key that unlocked the manacles about his wrists. Too weak to try and defend himself or to break free, he was pulled to his feet by two hands and dragged from the chambers behind Durza. The Shade led them down a hallway before rounding a corner to a circular stairwell. They descended the stairs to a wooden door that Durza opened.

The guards dragged him in and he took a moment to observe the chamber. It was as Durza had called it—a torture chamber. All types of mechanisms were about the room, showing the various tools that could be used to torture and beat someone into submission.

"Remove his tunic and tie him up to the whipping post," ordered Durza moving to the table on the far side to grab a whip.

The stained tunic was removed and he was forced on his knees about a wooden post. There, the soldiers crisscrossed his wrists before wounding a thick rope about them, keeping his hands tied to the top of the post.

"Wait outside," ordered Durza as Eragon took in a deep breath through his nose trying to calm his body which wanted to flinch as the poison continued its path throughout his veins. "I may have more orders for you."

"Yes, my lord," the soldiers left leaving merely Eragon and Durza in the chamber which was lit by torches spread apart by increments of seven feet on the stone walls.

As he heard Durza approach, he closed his eyes. _Do not be afraid, Eragon, _he thought to himself. _You have been through this before. You have been tortured by Faust when you were younger. There is no need to show fear now. Not to Durza._

"I give you two choices, elf," said Durza quietly, his voice sounding as if it was trembling with laughter. "Tell me all that you know or force my hand."

"You will not have any concessions from me, Durza," said Eragon in a determined voice. If he showed weakness to Durza, he would never be able to forgive himself. Especially knowing that Arya had been through the same if not worst for days on end. She had been strong even in the throes of agony and poison and had been able to fend off Durza and safeguard her knowledge and information. He could be too. He knew he could.

"Very well," that was all Durza said before he heard the crack of the whip and the burning pain that erupted in his upper back. Immediately, Eragon clenched his teeth and took a deep breath from his nose. Durza had not given him something to clench his mouth about. The Shade wanted to see him weak and powerless. _Never, _the thought surged through him as the next lash dug through his lower back. His hands clenched and his teeth gritted together but he did not yield.

Each time the whip descended on the skin of his back, he thought of Arya and how she fared in her tortures underneath Durza. And then he thought of his own tortures by Faust and how he thought he was going to die but he didn't. This would be no different. He wasn't going to die here whether it was by Durza or the Forsworn. He wasn't ready to die. Not yet. There was still so much for him to do.

Another lash to the middle of his back and he felt the skin being ripped away a trail of warm blood dripping down his spine. He took in another deep breath. It helped to think about other things while he knelt there. It dulled the pain if only slightly. Thinking of his time spent with Saphira and when she had hatched for him had made it seem as if the pain had been a mere sting and nothing more. Thinking of his family had dulled out the room and Durza. Thinking of Arya had kept his strength intact and untouched as Durza continued to whip him.

Having lost count of how many lashes he was subjected to, he gritted his teeth when another came down and bit his tongue causing the taste of metallic iron to erupt in his mouth. His eyelids fluttered and he felt his body slump down, his mind trying to pull him away from reality and fend off the pain that was searing across his back, embedding itself into his skin.

"_Eragon?" He'd heard that voice before. Opening his eyes, he squinted against the bright sunlight that came streaming in through gaps in the tree leaves. A shadow leaned over him, blocking the painful rays of the sun from his eyes and he felt his eyes widen as he took in the sight of green eyes, wide in shock, surprise, and most of all hope. "Eragon?"_

"_Arya," her name left him in the same way she breathed his name. Desperation and hope clawed at him. Was this his Arya? Was she real? Or was this another figment of imagination that his mind seemed to concoct in order to protect him from the pain that Durza was inflicting on his physical body._

_Her emerald eyes widened and she blinked showing him films of tears. Forgetting all about the pain and the hurt that his body was going through, he immediately reached up to her and pulled her down to him so that she could rest against his body, her head on his shoulder._

"_What is it, Arya?" asked Eragon softly, willing her pain away. "What is it that upsets you?"_

_She was silent for a moment before she spoke, her hand grasping his tunic, wrinkling the fabric underneath her trembling fingers. "Are you real?"_

"_Are you?" Eragon replied glancing down at her as he ran a hand through her silky strands. "Or is this in my mind? Perhaps I am the one hallucinating." He sighed as he tightened his arms around Arya. "I miss you and Saphira, I miss everyone."_

"_I miss you, too," Arya murmured as she lifted her head to lean on her hands over him, her hair falling about them to curtain them from the world. __Never before had he seen her emerald eyes so bright and yet so full of pain. "Even after all this time…I can never stop loving you."_

"_Nor I you," murmured Eragon as he lifted his head, tilting it so that he could kiss her. He wanted her to understand the depths of his emotions through his kiss. He wanted her to know how much she meant to him and how he could never stop loving her. In this Alagaësia or in the next._

_And she kissed him back just as passionately, pressing herself to him letting him encase her in his arms. The two of them stayed there, wrapped about each other willing one another to understand how they felt and for a brief moment, he couldn't help but wonder if this was real. Because it felt real—everything about it felt real._

Jerking back awake as the whip descended on him again, he clenched his jaw as his mind tried to grasp what it was that had happened. He felt as if he had just been torn from a dream into a raging inferno or pain and agony. His fingers flexed out of reflex as if they wanted to grab something that could help ease the pain away with.

But nothing could.

_Breathing helps, _Eragon thought to himself feeling his mind beginning to dull from the fire that licked at his back. He took in a deep breath and released it, his fingers flexing once more when the whip descended. How much more of this onslaught was he going to take? Just as the thought crossed his mind, the door to the chamber opened stopping Durza as he raised the whip once more.

"That is enough, Durza," Formora's voice was hard despite its melodious nature. "You have already given him more than fifty lashes. Anymore and you shall kill him before you can extract any information from him."

"This is none of your concern," said Durza dismissively. Eragon blinked and despite himself not wanting to, he couldn't help but feel amused. Formora would not take well to being spoken down to. At least not from his experience with the Forsworn.

Her voice was seething when she spoke. "It is when you commandeered my estates and was about to kill our source of information. Do not make me say it again, Durza. You must stop before you push him beyond his limits. If he dies, Galbatorix will be displeased with you."

There was a moment of silence before Durza let out a noise of anger. He threw the whip to the side and turned, storming out of the chamber. "Then I shall continue later this evening, but know this Formora. I shall not stop until he tells me what I want to hear."

"I shall not stop you then," Formora replied. With that said, Durza swept out of the chambers leaving Eragon still tied against the post. He let out another deep breath and lifted his gaze to Formora as she walked over to him, her face contorted in an expression akin to pain as she stared at him.

"Come to gloat?" asked Eragon in a ragged breath as she pointed to his hand, murmuring a spell underneath her breath. The ropes gave way and his arms fell slack to his side causing him to wince as the muscles in his back moved accordingly.

"Do not think so ill of me, Eragon," murmured Formora as she stooped down to examine his back. "Your skin is raw so it shall hurt when you wear your tunic but bear with it." She reached for his tunic and despite his weak attempts, helped him don it. Then calling for her guards, she had his escorted out of the chambers and back to his prison.

"I can handle him from here on out," said Formora dismissing the guards once they had set Eragon against the wall causing him to wince as his back touched the concrete, irritating his wounds. The two left him and Formora, closing the door behind them. She crouched and cuffed the manacles onto his wrists. "It will be best if you rest on your stomach when you sleep so as to not irritate your back any more."

"Formora," said Eragon catching her attention. "There is no need for you to pretend with me."

Her blue eyes pierced his as she raised a brow and he continued knowing that he had to say what he wanted to say. He didn't want her false kindness. It only brought back the memory of Elvina to him—Elvina who had saved his life once. "Whether or not I die in the chamber of your estates or in the hands of Galbatorix, there is no need for you to pretend kindness towards me. I am your enemy and you are mine."

She blinked at his words before shaking her head and before he knew it, she was kissing him softly once more, her hand stroking his jaw. He was too weak to try and pull away but he was glad when she seemed to understand his discomfort and detached herself from him. "Let me decide that."

He allowed her to help him onto his stomach, the chains clunking against the walls as he did so. Then with a gentle stroke of her fingers through his hair, she stood staring down at him with mixed emotions. "Rest, Eragon."

With that said, she turned and was gone, her words ringing deep in his ears. _Let me decide that. _He sighed and closed his eyes trying to think of that one moment of clarity in which he saw Arya. Nothing made sense anymore and he was too exhausted to care at the moment. Instead, he merely let his waking dreams sweep him away, hoping that in them he would find remnants of his past life and not of his current predicament.

**So, you understand a little bit more of Formora's character. I suppose in this story, she's not entirely as she seems to be. In any case, the next chapter is the long await Arya POV. I haven't done one in a while so let's hope I don't throw her character for the loop. You'll get to see more into Arya's thoughts and feelings, particularly in regards to Eragon's capture. Everything just seems so complicated in this story, huh? And don't get me started on the vision Eragon had. It could be a self defense mechanism or something. In any case, await for more complications to arise! Have a beautiful Christmas everyone! And a Happy New Years (if I don't update before then I shall see you all next year in 2014!) ****See you all soon!**


	32. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

**Hello again everyone! This is Arya's POV! I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I don't think it's going to be the last chapter that will be in Arya's POV but I'm trying to map everything out as best as I can at the moment. Just a few words, really before you all start reading. I'm not really going to say much about the relationships and feelings going on in this story anymore (since I feel like I keep repeating myself. This story is ExA and it will get there if you give it time). I will also like to say that despite the twists within twists, I have it planned out how I want to go about this story so don't worry too much about it. Also, I'm very touched that a good deal of you seemed worried about Formora's fate. (I had deliberately painted her character like this...I will admit that Formora will not have an easy time but there's something I want to bring out in this story that only her character can fulfill and possibly Selena when she eventually enters.) In any case, Happy Early New Years everyone! R&R!**

"You miss him, don't you, Veric?" murmured Arya as she stayed crouched before the white Shrrg. The large beast made a keening sound in his chest. She smiled as she ran her fingers through his soft fur, gently scratching his jaw and stroking his muzzle. Veric merely tossed his head before lowering it to allow her to continue to gently stroke him. Sighing, she reached behind to scratch at his ears. A large breath of air left Veric as he leaned in towards her hand. His earlier irritation was gone to be replaced with adoration. Since the first day she'd met the beautiful white Shrrg, she had grown rather fond of his company. When he wasn't following Eragon about, he was trailing behind her. Rapidly enough, he had become a silent companion that had given her strength throughout the days. Especially when Eragon wasn't around.

At the thought of Eragon, she felt her throat constrict. "I miss him, too," whispered Arya stilling her hand as Veric's large amber eyes rolled upwards towards her. And as if understanding what it was that she said, he nudged her hand gently.

Staying crouched there, she continued to stroke Veric's fur as her mind began to wonder back to the chaos that was the attack. It had been sudden and quick. All she could remember was charging forward with Eragon as a volley of arrows was released from their archers in the rear. She remembered the sound of the spears breaking through wood, denting metal, and piercing flesh. And she remembered Eragon's yell as he withdrew Brisingr and Vrangr, his beautiful sapphire blades gleaming as they descended upon flesh only to be lifted into the air coated in blood.

There was no doubt in her mind that they would win. The force that was sent to attack them was small and as the Varden began to propel them back towards the mouth of the tunnel, that was when she had lost sight of Eragon. In one instance he was towards her left and then the next moment the bodies shifted and he was hidden from her sight. But she had fought—fought believing that he would be safe. He was Eragon, the elf who had saved her father, who had fought of the Forsworn and their dragons, who had killed the Ra'zac. He was so strong that she could not believe in his strength.

Yet when the battle conceded in the Varden's favor and the few remaining turned tail and fled through the tunnel whence they came, she could not spot him. Amongst their warriors, she could not find him. She had thought that he had chased after them but when she made to move towards the tunnel to call out to him, her feet had caught on something. It was the pommel of Vrangr. The beautiful sapphire sword laid in a puddle of blood, the blade gleaming a malevolent violet as if calling out to her.

In all of the years that she'd known Eragon, she knew that he was never one to leave his swords. Vrangr was all the evidence that she needed to come to terms with the fact that Eragon was in danger—that they had come for him. Galbatorix had finally decided that it was time to deal with his formidable foe that was Eragon.

_If only I was there, _thought Arya once more feeling her earlier desperation return to her. It was how she had felt when she had stumbled across his sword—disbelief, sorrow, and desperation. Even if Deynor was already trying to move forward, she had refused to accept the truth. Eragon was not dead nor was he as good as dead. He was strong, resilient, and capable. Whatever it was that happened to him, he would be emerge as victorious.

"Behave, Veric," Arya said gently stroking his muzzle. The white Shrrg blinked at her before opening his jaws in what appeared to be a yawn showing his sharp and pointy white teeth. Veric blinked tiredly at her before curling in on himself, closing his eyes. _Like master, like Shrrg, _she thought amused as she stood in one fluid motion. Veric reminded her of Eragon. It was a well-known fact about the Varden that Eragon had a temperament and that he loathed to wake with the sun despite his obligations. Due to that, he ended up becoming rather grumpy in the morning.

She stood and turned to enter her room only to stop. Her eyes darted to the door across from hers—the door that led to Eragon's living quarters. It made her heart hurt whenever she woke in the morning not seeing Eragon step out from his chambers to greet her like he usually did. Her hand tightened on the handle to her door.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath before straightening and turning. In two long strides, she was standing before his door, her hand gripping the handle. Turning the handle, she was surprised when the door was not locked nor warded. _Had he warded it? _She had thought she had once heard him and Elvina arguing about respecting his privacy to the point that he had erected wards to keep Elvina and, not surprisingly, Angela both out of his living chambers.

Closing the door gently behind her, her eyes darted from left to right and back again taking in his living quarters. It was laid out similarly to hers with a living room the moment one walked in, a study on the left, a bedroom, and a wash closet. Yet it was different. She didn't know what it was about the room that seemed different to her but it reminded her distinctly of Eragon. There was something about it that made her feel at home—as if she belonged. Shaking her head, she merely continued through his living chambers moving towards his study.

Inside, she had to smile. His study reminded her of Angela's secret room. Though Eragon and Angela never really mentioned the details on how the dwarves were able to accompany her and her organized mess, Arya had come to assume that Eragon had somehow managed to pull several favors from King Hrothgar, which was impressive in its own right.

There were all sorts of odd trinkets lying about the study but a few caught her attention. With a soft smile, she easily maneuvered about his study laughing lightly when she saw the mess of scrolls, maps, and reports on his desk. Her eyes darted to the small statue that sat on the small desk pushed against the far wall. On it was a beautiful stone figure of a dragon, reared up on its hind legs with its wings spread as if it were about to take flight. Moving closer to the dragon, she let her fingers glide over the piece of work.

"I never thought you took this with you, Eragon," murmured Arya as she lightly fingered the metal statue which gleamed in the light of the flameless lantern that hung in the study. Letting her fingers glide over the scales that he had chiseled into the metal, she could not help but feel a great deal of admiration towards him. She had remembered joining him in Rhunön's forge and watching as he chiseled the memory of his beloved dragon into metal. He had never mentioned how much her loss had meant to him but whenever he hunched over on the workbench to hammer the metal into shape, she had caught sight of his eyes and the deep pain in them.

_It must hurt to lose someone so close, _thought Arya as her fingers glided up to the back of the neck of the dragon. She paused when she felt a break in the scales. Blinking in surprise, she lifted her fingers and glanced down to find a name etched into the metal in the neat characters of the ancient language.

_Saphira._

It was a beautiful name. She stared at it for a moment longer before allowing her fingers to continue tracing the dragon. Gliding her fingers over the wings, she felt a pang of sympathy for Eragon. She would never say it to him but she was sorry for his loss. He had lost everything he had in the war with Galbatorix—his dragon, his family, and his friends. Dropping her hand, she turned and made her way to his desk where a glass orb rested in which a white rose in blossom was encased, its beauty forever captured.

Lifting the orb up and off its stand, she turned the glass in her hand watching as the light from the lantern danced on its reflective surface. How odd that she had the exact same one. Imagining how the soft petals of the rose would feel underneath her skin, she took in a deep breath and closed her eyes momentarily imagining what it felt like. Opening her eyes, she stared at the white rose trying to understand what its true meaning meant. Eragon had said that it was important to him but it represented more than that. Every time she caught him staring at a white rose, she felt as if he was looking at something that was precious and meant to be cherished.

And he had given one to her as a symbol of her friendship—her first gift of a flower in her life. That moment had stuck with her and Eragon had unknowingly won a place in her heart. Returning the glass orb to the stand that Eragon had no doubt made for it, she turned her head to stare at the empty chair that was pushed away from the desk as if Eragon had left it in a hurry. Leaning against the desk, she felt a smile curve its way onto her lips as her mind conjured up an image of him sitting hunched over his desk with a look of utmost concentration on his face as he shuffled through his reports. Almost immediately that strange, tender feeling inside her was crushed to be replaced with a strong sense of loss and grief.

There had been no word of Eragon for the past few days. No one knew where he was or whether or not he was dead or alive. When they had tried scrying him, all they could see was darkness. She wasn't sure if he had wards about him to prevent anyone from scrying him but she could only assume. Her grip tightened on to desk and she took in another deep breath before she pushed away from the wooden furniture.

Leaving his messy study that reminded her distinctly of him, she made her way to his bedroom. Inside it was just as messy as his study. The bed was unmade as if he had just slept in it. Letting her eyes move away from his bed, they darted to the suit of armor that stood in the corner. Blinking in surprise, she stopped before the suit of armor taking in the silver of the metal and how slightly different it was compared to the armor in the armory. The angels were sharp and the metal appeared to be worked differently. _How come he never worn this before?_

Lifting her eyes to the helm, she felt a river of emotion course through her at the sight of a beautifully crafted helm. Gold outline the features of the helm and she knew without a doubt as she took in the intricate lines that were etched into the metal that it was of elven make. Had Rhunön made this for him? Lifting the helm from the mannequin that it rested on, she turned it in her hand stopping when her eyes caught a small etching inside the helm.

_To keep you safe._

She blinked in surprise. As she stared at the etching, she couldn't help but feel as if whoever had given this helm to Eragon was the same one who had forged the blade of Vrangr for him. It just seemed like the same person to her. Turning the helm in her hands, she caught sight of her expression. Why was she frowning? Why did she look so upset? Shaking her head, she returned the helm back to its original position.

With one last glance at his bedroom she turned and left returning to her room to bathe and rest. It had been a long day. Placing her sword on her living room table, she turned into her wash closet and immediately began to run the water for the bath. When it was done and steam was rising from the water, she slipped off her leather clothing and lowered herself into the bath. The last few days had been exhausting.

Closing her eyes, she tiredly leaned against the marble bath closing her eyes. She had never truly realized how difficult it was to be in a position of power. Arya had thought that thirty years was plenty of time to master her role as elven ambassador but it appeared as if she was wrong. Ever since Eragon was captured, her duties had doubled. The Du Gata Vrangr were in a disarray without a master and after much arguing amongst the members, Angela had decided to momentarily take up Eragon's role and teach magic despite her great distaste in doing so. Meanwhile, Rosalie had committed herself to training the soldiers. But those were the lesser of the problems. The biggest would be the meetings with the Councils, Deynor, and the dwarves.

Eragon had always been present whenever she was called into a meeting for there was an unspoken agreement between those of importance in the Varden that Eragon's opinion held weight. It had always been easy to understand their situation when Eragon was there. Everything had made sense. Now with him gone and the seat beside her vacant, it was hard to see sense. There were more arguments, more frayed nerves, and more anxiety than ever. And though she wanted to snap at the others, she knew better than to overstep her bounds. Only Eragon had such authority. Whenever a meeting did not go as planned or if it appeared as if they would erupt into conflict, he would speak in a tone that left for no argument and would propel them forward.

_Since when have I relied on others so much, _thought Arya lifting her hand to run her fingers through her hair, untangling the knots. _Or perhaps a part of me has always relied on Eragon. _He had been there for her for nearly four decades as an immortal companion. Even when she was younger, she'd come to rely on Eragon. She did not have close friends due to her duties and was beginning to learn what it meant to be Arya Dröttningu when she came across Eragon.

There was no denying that she had heard of Eragon before she had went to fetch him to attend the winter festival. It was hard not to when he was the elf who had saved her father from certain death at the hands of Galbatorix. She had wanted to thank him but the image of Eragon that was painted in her mind made her falter. As the years went by, she heard about him from others. They had said he was quiet, that he was forthright, and that he was aloof. To be honest, she had been hesitant at the thought of approaching him.

But she wanted to give him her thanks for what he did for her family. She just didn't know how. And when the winter festival was upon him, the chance came to her. She had hidden behind the guise of asking him to attend out of duty but had wanted to use the chance to thank him. Thinking back to when she had first set her sights on Eragon she smiled lightly, washing her skin as she did so. He had been so lost in thought that when she had approached, he had mistaken her for Rhunön. And then when she spoke to him, he had paused and hammered his own fingers.

A laugh began to bubble in her chest but when it had left her lips, it came out as a sigh. So many years had passed since then and she had found Eragon's presence a warm constant in her life. He was always there when she needed him. He was always there in Rhunön's forge, working and mastering the craft of a blacksmith. Then when he had left, she had felt a hole in her life. Her days grew silent and that was when the self-doubt emerged. It had taken her several years but she had managed to understand herself and her wants and that understanding had brought her to Eragon once more. He had been her companion within the Varden—a silent wall that protected her and gave comfort to her thoughts.

Finishing her bath, she dressed and entered her bedroom and taking a seat on her bed. Arya sat there for a long moment before her eyes flickered to the sapphire blade that rested on her bedside table. _Vrangr. _After much digging through the pile of corpses of Urgals and bandits, she had found Vrangr's scabbard. At first she had insisted that Deynor take possession of Eragon's swords momentarily or perhaps even Angela but that thought was perished when they had held the blade.

Vrangr had shook wildly in Deynor's and Angela's hands, rejecting them. When Arya had moved to hold the sword, it remained silent in her hands. It did not shake nor show any signs of rebellion as it did to the two others. What was more was the feeling of utmost warmth that she received from the sword. It was almost as if it were calling out to her. Did that mean something?

With a steady hand, she reached out and gripped the pommel of Vrangr before sliding it from its sheath. A silent hiss echoed in the room as the blue blade was revealed. Holding it parallel to her body, she took a moment to admire the light webs that ran through the length of Vrangr. It was a beautiful sword perhaps even more beautiful than its twin, Brisingr.

"You must have loved him dearly," murmured Arya. She stared at the sword and tried to picture someone that had cared enough for Eragon to forge him such a beautiful blade—to want to protect him. She tried to imagine Eragon happy without reason to be, smiling and laughing with her. Yet all she saw was a faceless person. Shaking her head, she sheathed Vrangr, relinquishing the warmth it brought to her and settled into her bed.

The following day as she was preparing to go visit Deynor, she blinked when Angela suddenly appeared out of nowhere beside her. Veric, who was trailing behind her, turned his large head to the herbalist. "Ah, there you are, Arya," Angela's expression appeared rather odd in the morning.

"Angela," Arya inclined her head to the witch. Over the years of knowing Angela, she had only come to two conclusions about the witch. The first was that Angela was eccentric and the second was that Angela deliberately did things to annoy her. Eragon's requests that Angela cease her harassment of the elven ambassador only seemed to spur her even more. She glanced behind the herbalist, surprised to find that Rosalie was not present.

"She is busy training the troops," Angela answered her unasked question. Arya nodded.

When Angela made no move to leave, Arya raised a brow. "Is there something that you needed, Angela?" asked Arya wearily. She was prepared for any jab or teasing comment that the witch was about to spew. But what Angela said next made her pause in surprise.

"There is an urgent matter that I have to speak to you about," said Angela in a low voice. Frowning, Arya glanced about and nodded flowing the witch to her secret chamber. Her meeting with Deynor could wait for the moment. And if she was questioned, she would just drag Angela with her to meet the leader of the Varden and explain.

"Hello Solembum," said Arya as she caught sight of the werecat curled up on a table playing with a strange looking glass object. Yellow eyes flickered to her and a pleasant purr reached her ears.

"Keep the large wolf outside," said Angela as Veric poked his head through the door. "He may end up whipping his tail into something that shouldn't be touched."

"_Wait outside, Veric," _Arya gently commanded the white Shrrg. Veric whined but did as she'd asked and backed out of the room. Closing the door behind her, she walked inside careful not to touch anything at might lead to an unpleasant surprise. She had a vivid memory of Eragon taking her to meet Angela one day and he had come into contact with a staff that had shocked him right onto his back.

_Where is it that she keeps getting such artifacts, _thought Arya as she eyed several rotating spheres on a high shelf. They spun about each other without stopping.

"Oh that, I picked up while visiting King Hrothgar, his spellcasters sure have a strange collection of objects," said Angela catching sight of Arya's interest in the object. She stared at the rotating spheres for a long moment before leveling a hard look at Arya that instantly put her on the defensive. It was almost as if Angela was waiting to see something from her. But what, she did not know.

"Yes?" asked Arya quietly, suddenly aware of the tensed atmosphere that had settled over them.

Angela's expression became hard and determined. "Several days has passed and I do not think we can ignore it any longer, Arya," said Angela piercing her with her deep eyes that caused her to stand rooted to the spot. She had a vague idea where Angela was going to say next but remained silent to listen. "We need to save Eragon."

At the mention of Eragon, she felt her heart lurch and her stomach turn. The feeling of desperation that had clutched at her yesterday was returning to her full force. It hurt to think of her close friend. It hurt to know that she didn't know how he was faring. Where was he? Was he safe? Were they torturing him? Was he dea—_No, do not think like that, _Arya cut off her thoughts quickly and fiercely. _Do not write Eragon off as if he has already been buried._

"Angela," said Arya in a soft voice. "We have to think about this rationally. We have no idea where Eragon is. I tried scrying for him but nothing comes up. If anything, he is somewhere within the borders of the Empire. If we try to do anything, no doubt Galbatorix will be upon us."

Angela stared at her for a long moment before letting out a sigh and muttering indistinguishable words underneath her breath. She heard the words like "moron", "if only he had confided", and "consequence." She let the witch continue on with her near silent mutterings. After some time, Angela's gaze returned to her.

"We cannot let Galbatorix have Eragon," said Angela, her fierce determination stunning Arya. Whatever arguments she had prepared were stilled upon the tip of her tongue at the look on Angela's face. It was an expression of determination, companionship, and loyalty. _I never knew their friendship ran so deeply, _thought Arya in surprise. She should have learned better than to take everything for face value. Even though Eragon and Angela seemed to irk each other at times, the two of them were close friends.

"Angela…" Arya started but she cut her off and began to pace back and forth, her wiry curls bouncing as if a wind was blowing through the room, giving evidence to her agitated state.

"Eragon is an important friend of mine, Arya," said Angela, "Make no doubt about such a fact. But there is more to this than just friendship…I only tell you this because I know that Eragon holds you in the highest regards and views you as a close confidant," she paused, taking in a deep breath. "There are things that Eragon knows—valuable information—that must not fall into the hands of Galbatorix."

She felt stung that Angela knew about something that Arya did not. She had always thought that Eragon had confided in her more so than others but it seemed as if she was wrong. Pushing the thought aside, she tried to rein in her thoughts. "Angela…Eragon is strong, if it is important, he'll protect it with his life."

"He is strong Arya, but he can only hold against so much. The Forsworn, the Ra'zac, the Shade, and then Galbatorix," Angela shook her head. "No, he cannot hold out against such foes especially if he is alone and at their mercy, subjected to their tortures."

_Tortures…_

At the mention of tortures, her heart clenched in its cage once more and she felt as if all of her breath had left her. In her mind, she saw Eragon bound by chains to a wall as he sat on the concrete ground, his head bowed and blood pooling at his feet. She didn't want to accept it but she knew in her heart that Eragon was in pain. And she was doing nothing once again. It was as if she had gone back in time to the mindset that she had before she had left Ellesméra. She knew what she wanted to do in her heart but her obligations kept getting in the way.

"But where?" asked Arya, willing herself to sound strong. "Where will I find him? He could be anywhere."

Angela stared at her for a long moment before gesturing towards the door. "Veric could find him, no doubt." At Arya's stare, she elaborated. "After five years of following behind Eragon, I am certain that Veric has a sense of where his master is at all times. If not, Alagaësia can easily tell you where they've led him. Speak to the animals, the plants, and the land itself. I trust that you will find him."

"My duties—"

"Will not disappear while you are away. Nor will the Varden collapse in on itself if you set out on this journey," said Angela reassuringly, her usual smile slowly coming into place. "You may not realize it Arya but Eragon has built this organization into something strong—stronger than Galbatorix will ever be able to comprehend from a group of fugitives. Not only that but you have friends amongst us and we will do what we can to help."

A gentle river of warmth coursed through her at Angela's words. Rarely was the witch ever sentimental with her but here she was trying to reassure her and giving her the strength and hope to do what she had wanted to do when she caught sight of Vrangr without its master—to give chase and find Eragon.

"Will you take care of the Varden while I am away?" asked Arya.

Angela tossed her head and sighed but winked at her. "I shall try to fill the rather large void that you and Eragon have made."

"Thank you, Angela," said Arya sincerely. The witch merely waved her off.

"Off you go, Arya," said Angela. "Eragon awaits."

Before she knew it, she was standing before the mouth of the tunnel where the fighting had been days earlier. Vrangr was strapped to her back, underneath her pack for traveling. Though Deynor had asked that she prepared thoroughly for the journey, she found herself packing lightly hoping to travel faster. She didn't need much to travel. Food could be picked up along the way and whatever else she had was merely for comfort.

Taking in a deep breath, she stared ahead into the dark tunnel. She would be entering the boundaries of the Empire for the first time in her life. She was making her way to Eragon once more. Veric gave a light huff next to her, his tongue rolling out momentarily before retracting into his mouth. _"Lead the way to Eragon, Veric."_

The white Shrrg tentatively began to smell the ground before bounding off into the darkness of the tunnel. Holding the flameless lantern in hand, she sprinted after Veric. Trying to calm her racing heart, she followed behind Veric as he took twists and turns through the tunnel, trusting that the white Shrrg knew where he was going. All the while, as she traveled the comforting weight of Vrangr pressed into her back as if trying to tell her that she was not alone.

For days, she had traveled following Veric and his keen sense of direction as well as what she gleaned from the plants and animals. They all pointed her towards the northeast. Traveling wasn't hard. She could run for miles without breaking a sweat and at night when she had finished her meal which consisted of fruits and plants that she'd gathered from the surrounding area, she would curl up to sleep with Veric curling about her to keep her warm and to keep a watchful eye on their surroundings.

He protected her—just like how Eragon would.

As the days passed, her eagerness to find Eragon seemed to heighten until it felt like she was being consumed by it. She wanted to see him. Her strong sense of Eragon's presence in her life seemed to grow when he wasn't with her and she felt it now more than ever. She didn't want to lose such a comfortable constant in her life. She didn't even understand what it was that she was feeling. But it was raw and passionate unlike the tamed limits of her life. It wasn't mapped out nor organized. It came and went like a torrent of wind, shifting and reshaping her world.

On the fifth day of her travels, while she was busy gathering water into her wineskin near a small river, she blinked when she heard Veric move to his feet beside her. He had been curled in on himself, waiting for her patiently. Corking the wineskin, Arya turned to the wolf.

"_What is it Veric?" _she asked quietly in the ancient language. His yellow eyes flickered to her before he motioned with his head towards the direction behind them. Arya stood and there was a slither of sound as she slid her sword from its sheath, holding it aloft in her left hand.

"_Take me to it," _Arya told Veric wondering what it was that was bothering the usually docile Shrrg. There was a low rumble in his chest and for a creature so large, he began to quietly make his way towards the trees of the forest that surrounded them. Cautious, she followed behind him her feet moving silently over the leaves and branches that cluttered the forest ground.

The two of them weaved in and out of the pines and that was when she heard it, a soft voice in the distance filled with desperation. _That voice…it sounds so familiar. _She had heard it somewhere before. She swore it. As if tugged in the direction of the voice, she started forward. The voice—a woman's—grew more distinct and she could clearly hear what she was saying.

"There is a river nearby, we are almost there…just a little longer…"

Whoever she was speaking to did not reply to her but she kept talking as if it was the only thing she knew how to do. Curious, Arya moved forward until whoever it was that was speaking was a few feet away. Her boot landed on a branch and it crunched underneath her feet. The soft voice paused and then there was a clash of blades as Arya and the unknown person crossed swords.

She blinked, her eyes adjusting to take in the person before her. She saw long dark hair, fair skin stained with blood, a hand holding a brown sword, and piercing blue eyes that appeared to shine with fierceness. Arya's eyes widened as she took in the pointed ears of the woman before her. But that wasn't the only thing that had shocked her into speechlessness. The person before her was Elvina—but not as she should be. Elvina was a human but the one before her was an elf.

"It's you…" the elf said in shock, her blue eyes wide.

"Who are you?" but the question died in her throat when her eyes wandered to the thing—person that was slumped against the elf woman's lithe form. She saw a shock of brown hair, pointed ears and fair features, and bloodied clothes as well as a sapphire blade.

Blood rushing through her veins and her heart pounding in her ears, she turned a cold stare on the elf before her, her hand tightening on the pommel of her sword as she took a step closer to the person. "Who are you? And what did you do to him?" Arya hissed.

**Gasp! The ending! Don't worry everyone, the next chapter will explain the ending. I'm just trying to see if I can get a hang of doing cliff hangers now since I don't think I do them much in my stories. I hope this chapter gives you an in on Arya's thoughts and feelings especially in regards to Eragon. She feels strong feelings towards him but isn't able to understand them just yet. There's still more maturing on Arya's part in this story. Also, I hope the mystery that is Formora will be explained in the next chapter so I hope you can all wait until then. In any case, this chapter was meant more to understand Arya and lead to this point so it feels like a filler chapter to me. But I still hope it was a good one for you all to read! (If there are any mistakes or typos please PM or review and I shall fix it fast!) Anyways, see you all soon! Happy New Years and I hope everyone has enjoyed their Christmas! ****What did you all get for presents?**


	33. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

**Happy New Years Eve everyone! Not only that but today is my dad's 50th birthday! And then tomorrow is my mom's! The end of the year is always a triple hit to my wallet. Anyways, I wanted to post a chapter before the year is out (one of the reviews motivated me to do so). So here it is, this is the last chapter of 2013, everyone! Tomorrow is 2014! The next chapter is going to be in Arya's POV since Eragon isn't going to be in any state to do anything besides sleep. Arya and Formora confrontation shall happen next chapter so please wait for that! In any case, everyone please have an amazing and safe New Years! R&R!**

Shifting against the wall, he groaned feeling his body ache. For the past few days, silence and agony had become his two silent companions. They ate away at him, threatening to push him over into an internal abyss. He shifted again and hissed when his back began to burn as if aflame. Durza had remained true to his words and had tortured Eragon mercilessly whenever the chance presented itself. The Shade knew no rest and the fact that Eragon never gave him any satisfaction from his tortures only seemed to enrage the man even more. But that did not stop the pain that crippled Eragon when he was brought back to his chamber and chained up.

He was beginning to understand how Arya felt when she had been tortured. For the past few days, he kept on seeing memories that no longer belonged and images that weren't possible. At times, he found that he wasn't lying on his stomach but in a meadow of rain lilies and filling the silence was a beautiful voice that sung a song about summer and the beginning of sun filled days. Other times, he was thrown into the past in which he saw his castle in Urû'baen. Nothing seemed real to him. And it was hard—very hard to drag himself out of his stupor when he didn't want to.

In his dreams he saw his past—a past in which everything made sense. It was a past in which friends had memories to share, in which loved ones kept no secrets, in which there was truth—absolute and real. He envied that world and in his haze found himself hoping that he did not have to leave and return to the stone chamber that he was chained up in, helpless and at the mercy of his captors.

The door to his chamber opened for the first time that day. Lifting his head, he expected to see red hair, pale skin, and maroon eyes. Instead of Durza, however, another man stood before him. He was tall and broad shouldered. Rather than wearing fine clothes, he donned silver armor that shone brightly even in the dim sunlight that poured in through the small window as if he were beckoning to everyone who he was and where he was. Eyes focusing, Eragon took in hair as dark as a raven's feather swept back to reveal a handsome face. Blue and black eyes stared at him, showing the callous depth of the weak-willed soul underneath. A red bladed sword hung at his right hip and when Eragon looked close enough, the tip of his left ring finger was missing.

Everything about this man's ensemble made him appear to stand out, but it was not in a good light. No, he held and dressed himself in a way that told those that he came across that he did not care as to who saw him and that he was unafraid of being seen. He didn't need to hide from his foes. His face was twisted into an expression that both showed cruelty and haughtiness. This man was the first of the Forsworn and the most expressive supporter of the Empire. He was Galbatorix's right hand.

He was Murtagh's father—Morzan.

Looking at him, Eragon could understand that Murtagh and Morzan both shared a striking similarity. They share the same hair, blue eyes, and a tall and broad shouldered physique. Their similarities only ended in appearance though. Murtagh did not share his father's cruel expression nor his aura of confidence and malice. Morzan took one long look at him before he closed the door behind him. Then with graceful steps, he stopped before Eragon, staring down at him with a condescending expression that made Eragon want to say something rude.

"And here I thought the elves were too cowardly to step outside of their forest," said Morzan as he stopped before Eragon. He stared down at him with a smirk as if enjoying his situation. "I had not believed Darius when he said that he captured you but it seems that it is true. I heard from Formora that your name is Eragon."

Eragon did not say anything. He would refuse to speak until he was forced to.

"Do you know who I am, Eragon?" asked Morzan crouching to grip his upper left arm. He fought the urge to flinch when he felt the metal of his gauntlets squeeze his flesh. He glared at the man, refusing to break eye contact. Brom had once told him that despite his strength that Morzan was weak-willed hence his need for alcohol. If there was one thing that he bested the Forsworn in, it was a battle of wills. He had gone through all types of tortures and he wasn't about to lose now.

"Morzan," Eragon forced out through gritted teeth when Morzan's hand continued to tighten its grip on his arm.

"Good, least you are educated," said Morzan with a nod. There was a moment's pause before he spoke once more. "Were you planning on killing me as well, Eragon? Like how you killed my brethren?"

"You already know that I plan to," said Eragon, with narrowed eyes. "But I shall leave you to Brom. I believe your life is his for the taking and no other." At his words, Morzan threw his head back and let out a laugh that sounded as if he were in pain. It was not filled with humor but with a darkness that permeated from the soul and outwards.

"Brom? That man cannot put a scratch on me not as he is now without power—without a dragon," said Morzan, his black and blue eyes glinting maliciously. "He is but a man that grows older and weaker as the seasons changes while I grow stronger. You believe someone like him could defeat me? Hmph. Let him try me and we shall see how weak he has become since last we've met."

He pulled his hand away from Eragon but did not move out of his crouch. Instead, he continued to stare at Eragon. "I am not lying when I say I am impressed that you have managed to remain silent even in the face of Durza's tortures. He is not one to be trifled with. I doubt you can continue on the way you are currently. Why not tell us what it is that you know, Eragon? It is a much more painless process, I can assure you that."

_And then you'll kill me when I have given you all you need, _thought Eragon darkly. He stared at Morzan refusing to speak. The Forsworn stared at him for a long moment and that was when he felt it, tendrils of thought coming out and drilling themselves into his mind. His jaw clenched but he didn't give in. Morzan was the first to ever try to break into his mind and he was going to show the Forsworn just how capable he was. He had grown up underneath Galbatorix's tutelage and even though he hated every moment of it, he wasn't going to let the knowledge he gained beneath the king go to waste.

Breathing in through his nose, he began to think of the Beor Mountains. All he thought about was about the white mountains and nothing else. He did not think about the Varden, his past, or the Eldunarí. His thoughts were hollowed and difficult to break through much like the mountains themselves. Strengthening the barriers where Morzan was trying to break through, he felt a sense of self-satisfaction when he saw Morzan's lips curl back into a snarl. All of Galbatorix's techniques were taught to Eragon and he knew how to empty his thoughts faster than most.

_You will get nothing from me, _thought Eragon confidently.

The two of them stayed like that for five minutes, neither of them moving as they stared at each other. When the fifth minute passed, he felt the tendrils of thought slowly ebb away until the barriers about his mind were left untouched. A flash of irritation passed on Morzan's face and the next thing Eragon knew, his world was reeling as a metal boot connected to his jaw sending him tumbling into the ground coughing.

Without another word, Morzan turned on his heels and left with the door slamming shut behind him. Coughing up blood, he glared at the door. As the seconds went past, he found himself hating Morzan more and more. Now he could understand how Morzan could be so cruel to Murtagh as to throw Zar'roc at his back when he was but three years old. The man was the epitome of cruelty. _Was he born with any feelings?_

It was hard to imagine his mother loving someone like Morzan. What was it about Morzan that attracted her gaze? His handsomeness was diminished beneath his cruelty. His mismatched eyes made him look as if he were a demon. The red sword that hung on his right hip gave him an air of darkness. Nothing about him was appealing and yet his mother was drawn away by his mystery and power and into his manipulative hand.

Eragon had half the mind of seeking out his mother before she had the chance of ever becoming the Black Hand but he knew that he wouldn't. He wanted Murtagh to be born even if he hated his own fate to begin with—even when he was ashamed of having Morzan for a father. The thought of not having his brother made his heart ache. The thought of Thorn not having Murtagh as a Rider was enough to upset him.

Moving to his hands and knees, he sat back letting out a deep breath. What will the day bring next? Sitting against the wall, he was about to doze off once more as he felt the inescapable heat of his earlier fever return to him when the door opened once again and instead of Morzan, Formora stood before him. She was holding a tray of food and on it was a small vial of golden liquid. With a nudge of her right foot, the door closed behind her.

She took one look at him and a frown made its way onto her face. It had been like this the past few days. Formora had volunteered in Durza's steed to feed and give Eragon the small dose of the antidote, Tunivor's Nectar, to counter the progress of the poison in his body. It had become easier to look at Formora and acknowledge that the Forsworn before him had once been his friend but that did not mean that he treated her the same as he treated Elvina.

"Drink," she ordered giving him the small vial.

He took it from her without a word and uncorked it before tipping the contents down his throat. There was a moment of crystal clear relief in his mind that made him blink. It was always like this. Each time he took a drink of the antidote, his mind would clear significantly and then when the hours went by it would begin to cloud up once more. He handed her the vial, watching as she crouched to place the tray down on the ground before him.

He took one glance at the soup and bread and even though his stomach longed to eat, the pain his body was in made it hard for him to focus merely on food. It wanted relief from the constant ache and the burning agony that danced on his skin as well as the progress of the Skilna Bragh in his bloodstream. As if reading his thoughts, Formora pushed the tray towards him.

"You have to eat, Eragon," she said quietly as if afraid of being overheard. "Your body cannot fight against the poison if you do not give it the necessary energy."

He wanted to hate her. In his mind, Formora was his enemy and he wanted to despise her for what she was. She was the one who had helped Kialandí lure Oromis and Glaedr away from Doru Araeba and had tortured them. She was the one who wielded the sword that had cut Glaedr's left foreleg from the rest of his body. But he couldn't seem to bring himself to. Knowing that she had been by his side for the past three decades made it hard from him to see her as someone who was his enemy.

"Why bother?" asked Eragon quietly as he stared at her for a long moment. "The two of us will always be enemies, Formora. You cannot deny that. Whatever it was that you were doing as Elvina for the past thirty years, you do not have to continue."

Her expression became stricken for a moment before it was gone. Turning her head away from him, she shook her head. "I do not understand why it is that I want to help you so," said Formora softly, so soft that only he could hear. "But the moment I first saw you, I wanted to know more about you. I wanted to be of help to you in any way I could. Odd isn't it?" She turned back to him, her blue eyes deep with emotions. "I had not meant for the façade of Elvina to go on for so long but I could not bring myself to leave."

"Why?" asked Eragon with a frown.

Formora stared at him for a long moment before the right corner of her lips curled upwards. "You were the first one to show me kindness even when I was rude. I suppose I knew then that despite your appearance that you were kind—even to strangers."

He did not say anything but brought his hands forward to take the loaf of bread in hand to break into halves. Placing one half on the tray, he took a bite of the remaining one in his hands. Formora did not say anymore but she did not make a move to leave. After he finished the first loaf, he reached for the second loaf stopping when Formora held it out to him.

He took it from her without any words.

"Are you afraid?"

The hand holding his bread stilled halfway to his mouth. His eyes darted to Formora to see that she was watching him intently. Trying to think of why she would ask him such a question, he frowned when he came up with no answers. At first his natural instinct was to ignore her question but he caught himself. _It is not like you have not told her about yourself before, _thought Eragon with a scowl as he remembered being fooled by her.

"No," said Eragon truthfully as he took a bite of his bread, chewing it before swallowing. "What is there to be afraid of? If I do not answer to Galbatorix, he will kill me. I won't disillusion myself into thinking otherwise."

"And you are willing to die?"

"We spoke about this before, Formora," said Eragon with a sigh. "I know I asked Elvina not to make me out to be a coward. Thus, I know that you know that I said such. I won't run away not even from death."

"Perhaps that is the difference between the two of us," said Formora quietly as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her pointed ear. "You can accept death so easily while I cannot."

"All things living die," said Eragon simply as he took another bite of his bread. "The only difference is time." Formora nodded, her eyes appearing rather faraway.

"I suppose so," she said quietly standing. Formora gave him one last look before she turned, leaving him. He shook his head when the door closed behind her. He never understood what it was that was going on in her mind. One moment she was Formora, the Forsworn, and the next she was Elvina, his friend. It was almost too much for him to keep up with. Finishing the rest of his bread, he took the bowl of soup in hand and began to eat.

Letting the hot liquid calm him, he took a moment to evaluate his situation. If he didn't do it now before Durza was upon him, it would be impossible for him to think through the pain. So far, it was not in his favor. The remaining five Forsworn were staying in Formora's estates for the meantime as well as Durza therefore rounding his enemies up to six. He frowned as he thought of Formora. He wasn't even sure if she was his enemy but he rather err on the side of safety. Trying to break free with them about sounded nigh impossible. Doing so injured, poisoned, and weaponless would only make it all the more impossible.

Whenever Durza dragged him out to torture, he would do so and return Eragon back to his chambers in agony and a haze of pain. The pain would last for hours and would seep into his waking dreams and into the next day until Formora brought him the small dose of Tunivor's Nectar. In that small period of time, he felt rejuvenated and clear in mind. Then the process would repeat itself. It became such a harsh pattern that it made him feel as if he was in a never ending nightmare in which time had stopped altogether.

He took another sip of his soup. _But if I don't do anything, I am as good as dead, _thought Eragon grimly as he thought of the eventuality of being brought on his knees before Galbatorix. _They won't risk killing me here. _He could take his chances with the worst possibility being tortured even worse than he was currently. He was thinking so hard that he didn't know that he had already emptied his soup.

The more he thought about his plan, the more it sounded plausible and not impossible. It would be difficult to pull but if he was gambling all of his worth in the eyes of Galbatorix, he was positive that the king wouldn't want him killed. His planning only lasted for another half an hour before Durza appeared to take him to the torture chamber as usual. The guards instantly went and unclasped the manacles from about his wrists and hoisted him up with his feet dragging slightly against the ground.

Durza didn't spare a single word as he turned and led the way out of his chamber. Within a few minutes he was clasped to a stone table that was like a pyre. Having flogged Eragon countlessly yesterday, Durza had settled to burning his skin with a heated metal tong. Gritting his teeth like he usually did for his flogging, he had no choice but to bear with it. With every touch of metal against his skin, he would clench his teeth to prevent any sound from leaving. When Durza removed it to reheat the metal, he would let out a breath only to inhale deeply once more when he pressed the metal into him as if trying to will the metal to break through his skin through to the other side.

When he was tossed back into his chamber much later, he groaned when he felt the metal hackles being clasped over his wrists. It was quiet for a long time, much longer than he was used to in his prison before Morzan reappeared to try and dig through his mind once more. But even when Eragon was recovering from his tortures, he didn't concede to Morzan much to the Forsworn's displeasure.

"You are much stronger than you appear," said Morzan after he backhanded Eragon across the face in hopes to break his concentration. The metal of his gloves scraped at the skin on his jaw causing three long cuts to appear on his face, each dripping blood. He let out a mirthless laugh. "I suppose that shall make it all the more enjoyable when I break you. I shall see you again but it is a shame that it is not tomorrow." He laughed once more and was gone.

_Morzan won't be on the estate tomorrow?_

The thought stuck with him as he laid there on the ground trying to breathe through his pain. Struggling to stay awake and think more on what Morzan had said, he groaned as darkness overtook him.

In his waking dream, he saw a mirage of colors but nothing else. It seemed as if his mind was too tired to conjure concise images for him this time around but he wasn't going to complain. In his waking dreams, the pain didn't feel like it was burning him alive and he had a moment's respite.

When the following day came about he found himself in the same state of mind as he was the day before. His thoughts were confused and he had a hard time focusing. When Formora came, he didn't even have the energy to spare to talk to her. Instead, he did as she asked and drank the dose of the antidote and ate. As if sensing his mood, she did not question him. Instead, she left him with only a concerned look.

_So far, everything is going as according to routine, _thought Eragon as he leaned his head back against the wall. Closing his eyes, he laid there letting the silence comfort him. There was a flutter of wings and then a soft and sweet trilling of a mockingbird. Turning his head in surprise, he took in the sight of the small creature singing in the high perched rectangular window. It was almost as if the bird was trying to offer him comfort. He stared at the mockingbird feeling a lightness in his heart for the first time since he was held captive by the Forsworn.

Suddenly the door to his chambers slammed open and Darius strode in looking furious. He swung the door shut behind him before turning to level Eragon with a glare. "I do not care who it is that you are to the King but that does not mean that a pathetic shade like Durza should order me about like I am his servant," he said, his face steadily becoming red. Eragon glanced at him taking note of his sword that was hung from his hip. A plan instantly formulated itself in his mind and he found himself moving to grip his chains on either side of him to pull himself to his feet.

"Good," said Darius with a nod of his head. "You are already standing. I will not dirty my hands to drag you to Durza himself. Pathetic shade cannot do anything correct. If you were my prisoner, I would have broken you the moment you were in my hands."

From the few encounters he had with Darius, he came to understand that Darius was very short sighted despite his intelligence. There was no denying that Darius possessed intelligence but he tended to underestimate his enemies like in this instance. To Darius, Eragon posed no threat because he was poisoned, underfed for the past few days, been tortured mercilessly, and was weaponless. He wouldn't let him underestimate him now. The moment both of his hands were freed, Eragon sprung into action.

Slamming his fist into Darius's face, he pulled back to hit him in the gut. As he had assumed Darius did not give much thought to physical blows. He was too confident that his opponent would never be within a close enough reach to inflict any physical pain upon him. Watching as the blond haired Forsworn stumble backwards, he leapt forward conscious of how slow he was going as compared to how he was when he was fully healed.

"You little—" but that was as much as Darius was able to say for the next moment, Eragon dug his fist into his mouth. Aren made contact with Darius's jaw and he heard a snap of a bone. That would prevent Darius from making any sounds any time soon. Ignoring the pain that erupted in his hand from the blow as Aren was forced back against his finger. He reached down and snapped the bones in Darius's right hand drawing a silent howl from the Forsworn.

As long as Darius couldn't talk, he was in the safe. Despite the heat that his body was consumed in, he continued his assault on Darius. Grabbing the man's blond hair, he slammed it into the stone wall hearing another crunch of bone. When Darius managed to throw him off, Eragon had a good view of his face to know that he had smashed his nose to pieces. Blood dripped from his face and Darius was almost unrecognizable from the damage that was done. The only thing that remained the same were his blood red eyes which were burning with intense hatred.

He lifted his hand and Eragon was too slow to react as it made contact with his sensitive torso. Stumbling back into the wall, he took a deep breath trying to clear his mind. Shaking off the pain, he rushed forward once more turning and bringing up his leg in a clear circle. It slammed into Darius's left arm as he brought it up to guard himself.

Not giving him any rest, he jumped back and feinted to the left before bringing his right fist up in a rook hook and slamming it into his gut knocking the wind out of Darius. Releasing a gurgle, Darius lunged for him tackling him to the ground. Receiving a hit to the face, Eragon blinked trying to see past the blurriness of his vision. Strong hands gripped him and he was tossed against the wall slamming into it near his chains.

Stumbling, Eragon reached behind him to place his hand against the wall to steady himself. He heard the sound of footsteps and then he was falling heavily on his side as Darius's fist connected with his jaw. His vision blacked before him and he found himself crawling along the ground, his body suddenly ablaze with pain. A foot to his back sent him crashing into the ground.

Momentarily dazed, he grunted when a hand pulled him to his feet and a fist connected with his torso so hard he heard a snap and knew that one of his ribs had gave away against the force of Darius's punch. Falling to his knees, harshly breathing, he gritted his teeth when one of Darius's booted feet slammed into his one of his hands cracking the fingers on his right hand effectively. Blinking away the pain, he stared at his broken hand, watching as a feeble green magic burst forth trying to heal him but being unable to, seeing as his entire body was almost broken.

A surge of emotion washed through him and he found himself moving to his feet, barreling into Darius. The two of them went tumbling onto the ground rolling and throwing punches and kicks. When they stopped, Darius had the upper hand as he held his knee against Eragon's throat as if trying to choke him into submission.

His left hand cawing at his side, he tried to find something that could give him leverage against the Forsworn as his need for oxygen grew and his vision seemed to dim. Darius's knee pressed down against his throat even harder and if he was capable of speaking past his broken jaw, he knew the man would be cursing him to the depths of hell. His left hand searching frantically for something, he blinked when it curled about his metal manacles. Grabbing onto them, he tugged at the chain as he brought the metal up and slammed it into Darius's face, knocking him backward.

In a frenzied scramble, he hurried forward and slammed the manacle closed over his wrist. Then urging his body to go faster despite its injured state, he grabbed the remaining manacle and locked it about Darius's other hand trapping him into place. Taking advantage of the Darius's sudden confusion, he gripped the pommel of his amber sword and pulled it free of its scabbard before planting a foot against Darius's chest and kicking him against the stone wall with all of his strength. He went flying into the stone with enough force that there was a light thud before he slid to the floor.

"Revenge is sweet," said Eragon heaving deep breaths as he stared down at Darius, his left hand gripping his sword tightly. He held the tip against Darius's throat, watching as his eyes widened slightly at his new position. He tried to speak but the only sound that escaped him was a furious gurgling. "As much as I like to speak with you Darius, I must get going before the others come looking for me."

With a flick of his wrist, he slid the amber sword between Darius's ribs and pierced his heart. An expression of utter surprise flickered on Darius's face as he stare up at Eragon before his body fell still and his eyes dimed, the red becoming dull as the malicious gleam left the ruby eyes. Panting, he pulled the sword free and stumbled towards the door of his chamber pulling it open. Glancing up and down the hall, he turned and ran towards the staircase he knew that was there. Rather than go down towards the torture chamber, he ascended the stone steps.

Leaning heavily against the wall as he did so, he raced up the steps knowing that his time was limited before the remaining Forsworn and Durza came searching for him. Emerging on the top of the staircase, he took in a deep breath and took the hallway on his left, his footsteps muffled on the emerald rug that stretched the hallway.

_Where was Brisingr?_

Running through the hallway with his injured hand cradled against his stomach, he froze when he heard footsteps of Formora's guards approaching where the hall ended into another. Pressing his back against the wall, he waited as the guards passed.

When their footsteps faded away in the opposite direction he turned and made his way down the hallway that they came from, opening doors which he didn't hear any movement in. Despite the size of Formora's rather elegant estate, luck had smiled upon him for the fourth door on his right opened up to an armory. Closing the door, he didn't have to search long to find Brisingr hanging from a weapon rack on the wall opposite to the door. Hurrying forward, he grabbed his sword from the rack and slid it into his belt just as the door opened and closed behind him.

"Who does that Shade—"

The man barely finished his sentence as his eyes registered the sight of Eragon free from his prison. The soldier's eyes widened, his mouth opened, and his left hand grasped for the handle on the door but Eragon, despite his weakened state, was faster. Grabbing a dagger that laid on the table behind him, he threw it with great accuracy, watching as it embedded itself in the man's throat. His scream for help died in his throat as a gurgle left him and his body slid to the ground, slumping to the side. Taking in a deep breath, he grabbed a shield and belt of throwing knives nearby and opened the door once more.

He needed the antidote. He doubted he could make it far without Tunivor's Nectar. Not only that but he did not know where he was. Hurrying out of the armory, he began to run down the hallway trying to find a window that he could jump from. As he ran, he turned a corner stopping when he came into a group of four guards. Before they could even comprehend what it was that they saw, a knife protrude from each of their foreheads and their body fell to the ground with a soft thud.

He contemplated hiding the bodies but decided against it. He was too weak and wasting time hiding the bodies could only make all of his efforts for naught. Hurrying forward, he crept about the corpses and continued down the hallway turning another corner. Growing frustrated with the many turns he had to take, he blinked when he heard the sound of horses. A stable was nearby meaning that a way out was near.

He made his way towards the sound but stopped when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the west wing. Ducking behind a door, he took in a deep breath as he heard the voices of the soldiers. "Hurry to the healers' ward. Durza believes he'll make his way there."

_That is out of the question, _thought Eragon with a grimace. Clutching his side, he hurried through the hallway as the soldiers turned a corner and disappeared. He had no choice but to try and brave the world, poisoned. _Better to die than be captured once more. _Slouching now due to the pain in his abdomen, he gasped when he felt his broken rib flare.

Before he could make it any farther, a slim hand reached out and grabbed him roughly, pulling him inside the room, the door closing shut behind him. He blinked coming face to face with Formora, her blue eyes narrowed as she held her hand over his mouth.

"Behind the shelf," murmured Formora in a quiet voice once Eragon had calmed enough to listen to her words, "is a secret pathway that leads out of the estate and to an underground cave. When you reach the cave, make your way towards the forest and hide a mile in but no farther."

When he made no move to say anything, her brows furrowed dangerously. "I am trying to help you, Eragon. Trust me."

The shouting heightened in volume. Glancing back at Formora's piercing blue eyes, he nodded. She released him and before he could take a step, she reached up with her hand to cup his cheek. "Be careful, Eragon."

He nodded and opened his mouth to return the sentiment. "You as well, Formora."

Slouching to the shelf of plates, he pushed it to the left as Formora gestured glad when it gave way to reveal a dark passage. Slipping inside, he managed to drag the shelf back into place before starting his walk through the tunnel, hearing all the noise and clamor above that easily masked the sounds he made underground. At one point, he became so tired that he had to lean against the side of the tunnel for support but he refused to give up.

Step after agonizing step, he felt his way through the tunnel until he emerged at the exit. It was still daylight outside and the sunlight momentarily blinded him. Eyes dilating to adjust to the brightness, Eragon turned his head to find the forest that Formora spoke about. It laid to the south not far away. Hurrying forward despite the pain that his torso kept giving him, he let out a breath of relief when he slipped underneath the covers of the trees and continued forward at a slower pace but not slow enough.

Careful not to trip over the roots of the trees, he continued forward trying not to pass out on the spot. The pain from earlier had decided to come back and it felt as if he was being seared from the inside out with fire.

_Hide a mile in._

A mile in. It was hard to judge the distance when his mind felt muddled and confused. Had he really done it? Had he really overpowered Darius and killed him? Unbelievably, a laugh left his lips and he flinched when the motion traveled through his body. But it did nothing to diminish his sense of disbelief. He had done it. He had freed himself and Formora was helping him. She was betraying her king to give him safe passage away from her estate.

He paused for a moment to gather his breath before he continued onward. After nearly forty minutes of walking, he stopped, slumping against a large tree that gave him shelter. Placing Darius's sword on the ground by his side, he closed his eyes. He would wait for Formora. He would trust her like he did the past thirty years. As he laid there, he couldn't help but think of seeing Arya and the others again. They would be surprised no doubt.

Eventually he found himself slipping into sleep and when he felt someone shake him awake, he twitched in surprise and was about to strike whoever it was until he found Formora's concerned face hovering over his. Her eyes darted all over his body as if to assess his injuries and she shook her head, her eyes looking strangely glassy as if she were about to cry but thought better of it.

"You fool," her red lips trembled as she tried to smile down at him. "You brave, confident, fool." Then without another word, she reached down and held him to her, resting his head against the crook of her neck. "You're safe now. I'm with you, Eragon."

And he believed her without a doubt. He felt her hand rub his back as if to try to soothe him and her voice spoke to him, sounding faraway as she began to whisper gently to him. "Sleep, Eragon. I will take care of you."

Closing his eyes, he did as she said, not bothering to argue with her. He trusted Formora and he knew that without a doubt that she wouldn't betray him. The last thing he heard before his consciousness left him was the sound of her voice softly whispering words in the ancient language, almost as if she was singing before everything faded to darkness.

**So what did you all think? There was a small appearance made by Morzan. (For some reason, I didn't like writing his character really. Morzan has always been somewhat of a bore for me. I can't explain why but he just was.) Anyways, I hope the next chapter (Arya POV) will finally get to the heart of Formora. In any case, there isn't much to say and I only pulled a moment away from my loud family to have this posted. And then for the rest of the night, it'll be about laughs and story telling of the year 2013! Once again! Happy New Years Eve everyone! When the clock strikes twelve o' one I hope your spending it with your special someone! (That rhymes!) But family works too! See you all next year!**


	34. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

**Hello again everyone! This is the first chapter of 2014! The reason this chapter took a while was because 1) I had some family problems that just stressed me to infinity and beyond and 2) I had to write this chapter many different ways and it was difficult for me on what to settle on. Based on my interpretation of Arya I think this was the best way to go with Arya and Formora's confrontation. It made sense in my opinion when you look at their backgrounds, personalities, and the circumstance that they're in. I'll explain my reasoning more at the end of the chapter. Oh, and to address one of the reviews. I think I answered the question about no one questioning Eragon's appearance in TMF. It's actually explained in RL (the story that this is based on). In RL, Eragon becomes fully elf, not just a cross between human/elf. Anyways, happy reading! Just a heads up though, after this whole Formora/Elvina fiasco, there will be a huge time jump which will introduce characters that you have long been waiting for! R&R!**

Anger, hate, fury, and the likes were feelings that she were never familiar to. It felt indecent to her to let such raw emotions control her mind and actions. No, she had always preferred cool stoicism for if she let her enemies see her moved beyond reason, she was showing weakness. She was Arya Dröttningu, the only heir to the knotted throne, and she knew better than to act brazen and emotionally driven. To her people, that was the greatest act of ill manners. It was better to behave in ignorance than to behave with ill intentions fostered by a weak mind. She knew that and she understood it. Yet, standing there facing this strange elf woman she'd never met before, she felt a wave of irrational anger stole over her.

It was like an illness that was rapidly gaining control of her senses. Her vision tinted red and she fought to keep her hands steady when in reality she wanted to charge at the woman. In hindsight, it was shocking how much anger and hatred she felt for the person before her. It was shocking and alarming. She had felt angry before but never to such a scale that her blood boil and her body shook with the force of it. It was as if she had run leagues on end without rest. Her face felt flushed, her nose pinched, and her breathing almost frantic. But it took less than a few seconds before she had schooled her features into a semblance that was cold and threatening.

The only thing that gave her away was the slight tremor in her hands as she continued to gaze into cold blue eyes. The person before her looked so similar to Elvina that she would have thought that they were one and the same. But they weren't. The woman that stood at a cross swords with her was an elf and Elvina was a human. They couldn't be the same person, could they? Arya's eyes flickered to the brown blade in the woman's hand. Her sense of caution rose. She knew such a blade. Only one smith forged such blades and those blades were endowed upon Riders. _This woman is a Forsworn, _thought Arya as she gazed upon her enemy with narrowed eyes. She thought of all the female Forsworn alive and knew of only one. Formora.

_Traitor, _she thought as she stared at the woman.

"Answer me," said Arya with a cold tone as she refused to back down. "Who are you? What have you done to him?" If she hadn't heard her the first time, then she would repeat herself. Though she suspected that the elf was Formora, she wanted to hear it from her lips.

"You know the answer to the questions you ask, Arya," she bristled when the Forsworn spoke her name as if she _knew _her. She stared at the elf for a moment longer even though she wanted to reach out and see how Eragon was faring. He looked ill—severely so and she wanted to help him.

"You are Formora," it was more a statement than a question as she stared at the woman before her. When she didn't deny her words, her suspicions were confirmed. So she was indeed facing Formora. There was a flicker of emotion in Formora's eyes before it was gone to be replaced with a smirk.

"You have answered one of your questions. Would you like to answer the other?" Formora's blue eyes flickered to Eragon who was leaning heavily against her. Though he looked worse for wear she couldn't see exactly where it was that he hurting most. However, her eyes managed to catch several other details. He was deathly pale and sweat seemed to accumulating on his brow. His breathing was harsh and his body would have no doubt fallen to the ground had Formora not been supporting him. Her eyes paused on the slim hand that was curled against Eragon's lower stomach and the arm that was wrapped about his waist. It looked almost…protective.

"Let him go," it took her a moment to realize that she had spoken before her mind had formed the words to say. Her voice sounded cold and sharp and it alarmed her how shaken she was inside to see Eragon in such a state. He was always so strong and relentless. Her back straightened and she felt the weight of Vrangr press into her back, reminding her of her purpose. She had left the Varden with Veric to find Eragon and now that she found him, she wasn't going to return unless he was with her.

"Oh?" Formora raised a brow at her causing Arya to narrow her eyes ever so slightly. _This person's mannerism is like Elvina, _Arya thought. A stray thought flitted through her mind and she paused feeling slightly troubled. A trickle of confusion and suspicion easily broke through the anger that gripped her as she continued to stare at Formora. There was a sense of familiarity that she had with the elf—almost as if she'd known her for a long time.

A shift to her left caused her eyes to dart away from Formora momentarily to see what the source of the sound was. What she saw made her eyes widen. Rather than bearing his teeth to the possibilities of danger, Veric's stance was rather relaxed. His muscles weren't tensed like they would be if he were on the defensive. Instead, his amber eyes gazed at Formora before flickering to Eragon before he slowly lowered himself onto the ground, placing his large head on his front paws as if waiting for a meeting of reunited friends to finish. Arya stared at Veric for a moment longer before her eyes flickered to Formora, her mind processing everything as quick as it could. A few seconds passed and one conclusion came to her.

A breath left her and her hand tightened on the pommel of her sword. Gathering her emotions, she turned her eyes back on Formora, fighting the urge to curl her lips back into a snarl. Unable to help herself, thirty years' worth of encounters with Elvina came rushing back to her. She remembered the condescending tones and expressions, the taunts and mocking, and the irritation that had always remained with her whenever Elvina left. Now it was rushing back to her by a hundred folds. Or perhaps even a thousand. How was it possible for someone to lie so effectively? How was it possible to keep up a fake persona for so long? The rage that coursed through her was blanketed when her heart finally made the connection and deep down she felt a pang of loss. Even if she and Elvina did not get along well, Elvina was nonetheless a companion that she had thought she'd known. She was one of the few that had remained a constant in her life, ever unchanging. And now that constant had shattered to be replaced by the image of Formora, her enemy.

Strangely she wanted to be sick at the revelation. She had unknowingly spent the last three decades in the presence of one of her enemies. It made her feel weak and betrayed. The anger that had been muffled suddenly came back to her. Elvina—no, Formora—had fooled everyone. She had even fooled Eragon and Arya trusted his judgment above all else. She would even go as far as to say that in her life, Eragon came second to her father when it came to those she trusted.

"Why?" the word came out quietly and she fought the urge to speak any louder than a whisper for fear that her emotions would get the better of her. "Why are you doing this?" _Why did you lie to us? Why did you not kill us when you had the chance? Why are you holding onto Eragon like you are now? Why?_

Formora gazed at her for a long moment. Her eyes darted upwards as if she was hoping to find something above the tree branches and leaves that were covering the sky and casting shadows down upon them. Her hand shifted against Eragon's stomach and it looked as if she was pulling him closer to her. A flare of irritation coursed through her. Her teeth clenched together as Formora returned her gaze to her.

"I suppose I found the idea interesting."

She had thought she was angry before but that earlier state that had warped her mind seemed insignificant compared to how she felt now as Formora's words washed over her. _I suppose I found the idea interesting. _For the most part of her life, Arya had never been one to give into her own indulgence. Even when she was barely past her first decade, when she had first met Eragon, she had decided to abandon the calm of her life and the protection of her parents to take up her duties as the only daughter to Evandar Könungr. It was always duty. It was always for honor and pride. It was for her father, mother, and her people. But it was never for her. What she found interesting she barely gave thought to. Though there were a few rare days that allowed her the time to focus on tasks apart from her obligations, she found herself rarely able to enjoy her days. The few handful of returns that she had made to Ellesméra was not even close to being called a time of enjoyment for the in back of her mind no matter how much she'd danced, sung, or laughed, she could never release the shadow of her duties that clung to her.

And yet to hear Formora—an elf and a Rider—talk about wasting away three decades of her life because she found it interesting made her want to rage at the Forsworn. Irritation, annoyance, anger, and a small bit of envy pierced her heart. How is it that Formora, once a Rider of an Order that governed the whole of Alagaësia, able to throw away her duties so easily? As an elf, Formora had the duty to her king and people and she had tossed that away. As a Rider, she had a duty to Alagaësia and she had also cast it to the winds. Even as a Forsworn, she was casting aside her duties. And all for what? To set up a stage for which she could act out thirty years' worth of lies?

"You think this is a game?" Arya practically snapped, tremors running the length of her body. The urge to do something violent was manifesting within her mind. She wanted to release her anger. Breathing didn't help like it usually did. She was too wound up. Having to deal with Eragon's missing presence, trying to find a way about her duties to go after what her heart told her, and now this. She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut and turn away from the world temporarily but she dared not do so especially not with her enemy standing before her. "That fooling Eragon and the Varden for nearly thirty years is some way to pass time because you find it interesting?"

She couldn't bring herself to include herself in her statement. It stung to know that she had been just as fooled as Eragon and the Varden were by Formora. It shook her trust in what she thought she knew and she wondered if there was more that wasn't as it seemed. How many others were lurking in the shadows? How many others were hiding behind false identities?

There was a quiet, raspy groan as Eragon shifted against Formora. His body seemed to slump even further against her. Almost instinctively, Arya moved towards him only to stop when Formora easily twisted her hand to rest the tip of her brown blade against Arya's shoulder. She stopped and turned to glare at the Forsworn. Not to be outdone, she flicked her wrist and her sword which was resting against nothing in the air was now directed at Formora's ribcage. One thrust forward and her heart would be pierced.

"I had no interest in the Varden," said Formora to answer her previous question. "My only interest was in Eragon." Arya opened her mouth to snap back to the Forsworn how pathetic of an excuse that was but found the words dying on her tongue when the meaning of what Formora was saying struck her. It was as if the world had stilled. Formora, feared Forsworn, had tossed away thirty years for the sake of Eragon? She had lied to everyone and abandoned her duties so that she could be closer to him?

_Did she love him?_

Suddenly Arya's throat felt very dry. She couldn't imagine a Forsworn ever capable of loving anyone but themselves. They didn't love their friends, their people, or their companions. To her, they loved power, wealth, and other things of such superfluous nature. But she had never thought that Formora was capable to loving Eragon. But it made sense now that she thought about all of Elvina's interactions with Eragon in the past. She had always sought out Eragon and no one else in the Varden. She would only ever take heed of Eragon's words. As stunned as she was to understand Formora's feelings for the elf, she felt another emotion that she couldn't describe.

"So you are betraying your King once again?" asked Arya quietly.

Formora made a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat as she regarded Arya, her arm about Eragon's waist adjusting him slightly so that his head rested against her shoulder precariously close to her chest. "He was never my king," said Formora smoothly. "He was always Galbatorix to me, no more no less."

_What a life she must live if she follows her every whims, _thought Arya in distaste.

"How simple everything must seem to you," Arya murmured.

"Life has always been simple, elves like you merely just overcomplicate it," Formora replied. "If you want something, Arya. You should not hesitate to take it else it would be taken from you by others. Greed exist in every heart. The only difference is that there are those that are too afraid to act upon them."

"This is what this is about?" asked Arya with a dangerous frown. "You are afraid that if you did not garner Eragon's affections that someone else would?" He wasn't an object to be claimed. Even if Formora loved him, she shouldn't force her feelings onto him. If he did not return it, she should merely leave it at that.

Formora did not answer her question but instead replied with one of her own. "Then what is it that you are doing here, Arya? Aren't you afraid of losing Eragon as well?"

"Eragon is a close friend of mine," said Arya, her tone calm and clear. "And he has been so before I had joined the Varden. If our positions had been switched, I know he would come for me." There was a flicker of emotion in Formora's eyes. Was that envy? Her lips thinned and she seemed at a momentary loss for words.

Formora opened her mouth to speak but stopped when Veric suddenly moved to his feet. The white Shrrg lifted his large head towards Formora's direction, his amber eyes narrowing. A low, warning growl left his lips. Something was heading their way. A minute passed before she heard the sound of voices and heavy metal clanking together._Soldiers._

"_Wait," _Arya gently commanded Veric as the muscles of his hind legs tensed, ready to propel him forward through the thicket of trees. Veric hunched forward but did as she said.

Formora was of another mind. Withdrawing her sword, she pushed past Arya and gently lowered Eragon to the ground, leaning his battered and bruised body against the base of a tree trunk. She helped position his head so that it was resting against a thick root to prevent him from being uncomfortable. From Arya's position, she couldn't see Eragon as he was blocked from her line of vision by the tree.

"What are you standing there for?" asked Formora with a raised brow and without another word, she began to scale the nearest tree.

Scowling at her, Arya moved to do the same. She felt uncomfortable about leaving Eragon undefended on the ground but she had to take the upper hand. The sounds of the soldiers grew louder until she saw the first of the many bodies of that made up the scouting group emerge from the trees. Balancing on the soles of her feet on the branch, she held her breath. Below her, Veric quietly slinked away into the shadows. The voices of the soldiers rose.

"Hurry before he gets too far!" the captain ordered urging them forward. When he passed by Formora's and Arya's hiding spot and before he could come upon Eragon, Formora elegantly leapt forward and like a silent assassin, bore down on the soldiers with her brown sword. Following her lead, Arya jumped downwards, her sword arching about her in a circle. It met resistance but easily cut through it.

The soldiers came to a halt and confusion swept them. Then to add to it, Veric had come up on them from behind and began to tear at their necks—the fastest way to kill them. By sword and teeth, they cut down each and every soldier until the last one collapsed to the ground, a fine spray of blood flowing from the stub that was once his arm that Formora had severed completely.

Arya flicked her sword to clean it and without any hesitation flitted to Eragon's side. He was lying against the base of the tree trunk and from the slight tremors that racked his body, she could tell that he was suffering a fever. She placed a hand to his skin. He was burning. What was wrong with him?

"He is poisoned," said Formora as she came to a stop beside her.

Arya tensed. "You would know for you are the one who poisoned him."

"Durza was the one who poisoned him," said Formora with narrowed eyes. "Do not assume things."

"Being who you are it is only natural that I do," said Arya with a frown as she bent down to place a hand on Eragon's forehead. "What is he poisoned with?"

"Skilna Bragh."

Arya's eyes widened. Only two places existed outside of the Empire that possessed the antidote, Tunivor's Nectar, to cure Eragon. Both destinations would take days to reach and she knew how deadly the poison was. One dose could kill in a few hours. A very real fear gripped her at the thought of Eragon succumbing to the poison. She turned to Formora unable to keep the accusatory tone from her voice. "Why did you not give him the antidote?"

Formora scowled at her showing her displeasure for the first time and for a moment Arya was strongly reminded of the fact that the elf before her was a Forsworn. Instinctively, she wanted to attack her but she held strong. Formora had not given her a reason to attack her and right now, she was worried for Eragon. It was clear that the only reason that Formora was like this was because of her feelings for Eragon. For now, they had a common goal and that was to help Eragon. After that, she wasn't so sure where it was that they stood.

"You believe that Durza is not smart enough to realize that Eragon would make for the antidote when he fought himself free?" Formora raised a brow at Arya and instantly, Arya was insulted by her words. She felt her annoyance for the Forsworn grow. "In any case, I told Eragon to allow his body to retreat into a trance so that he could slow the progress of the poison."

Without another word, Arya reached forward to tug one of Eragon's arm about her neck. The moment she did, however, Formora angrily spoke. "What do you think you are doing?"

Arya gave her a look that was rather obvious. "I am taking him back with me to the Varden where he belongs." _A place where you no longer do, _thought Arya but she did not say so out loud. The look on Formora's face told her all she needed to know. Formora felt the same way. She seemed to struggle with something before without another word, she reached down and tugged Eragon from her grip. Arya scowled at her once more.

"If I am already damned then I might as well continue the rest of the way," said Formora with a hard expression. "Whether or not it is with the Empire or without, my fate is sealed. Treason is a high crime."

Arya shook her head. "I cannot find myself trusting you, Formora." She eyed the brown sword in her grasp. "You have lied to me before and have done so effectively. I see no reason how you could not be doing so now."

"I do not care if you trust me or not," said Formora. "I am taking Eragon back to the Varden."

"I can take care of him from now," said Arya, her lips thinned. "You would be in the wrong to think that the Varden would let you in their midst."

Formora turned to her, her blue eyes blazing. "I made my decision, Arya. I will not leave Eragon's side not until he is healed. There is much I want to say to him still." The underlying emotion in Formora's voice made her pause. A part of her was angered that she had even bothered to attempt to reason with Formora. No matter what her reason was, she was still her enemy. But another part of her wanted to trust in Formora—Formora who had been Elvina for thirty years. What was she to do? Her free hand clenched and unclenched as she sought a solution about this. Yet, it seemed that she could only ever arrive at one: to kill Formora. Even as the thought crossed her, she thought about how Formora had helped the Varden when she was Elvina. She had even went as far as to save Eragon when he was ambushed by the Ra'zac. Perhaps there was some good in Formora.

But was she capable of redemption?

Even if Arya did trust her, no one else would. She had chosen Galbatorix—had helped to slaughter an entire order and enslave the people of the Empire. When Arya said nothing, Formora sighed and released a mirthless laugh. "If it will ease your mind, then shall I swear to you that I mean you and Eragon no harm in the ancient language? If I had wanted to kill you or Eragon I would have done so, Arya. I would not be out here, betraying Galbatorix so that I can save Eragon's life. Nor would I have killed my own soldiers. Think logically. I had always thought you were rather intelligent."

"Insulting me does not make me trust you any more than I do now," said Arya watching as Formora sheathed her sword but Arya refused to sheath hers. Another pained groan left Eragon and she was reminded that they were running on borrowed time. Her mind was trying to figure out different ways to approach their dilemma but every solution she came across did not involve Formora. Having made her feelings clear, Arya knew that the Forsworn was not going to leave Eragon's side. She had already made her decision and she knew the consequences. That was another difference between her and Formora. Formora knew what she wanted and she took it but Arya despite knowing what her heart wanted could not.

"You can stand there all you want deciding what to do," said Formora as she knelt and wound her arms about Eragon's legs, allowing him to rest against her back. It looked rather odd seeing his lean and toned frame resting against the slim of her back. "You have the time but Eragon does not. I also do not want to be spotted by the other Forsworn or Durza. I have had enough of them for the last few days. Egotistical men." She snarled the last phrase with a fierce expression of disgust and Arya thought she saw Formora's arms tighten their hold over Eragon's legs as she carried him on her back.

Then without another word, she set off at a fast pace almost sprinting. Gritting her teeth, Arya stared after her. Veric turned his head to her, having come to rest by her side after the ambush. He let out a low keening in his chest. Bringing a hand to her face, Arya pinched the bridge of her nose. Veric let out another whine, clearly wishing to follow behind his unconscious master. Clenching her jaw, Arya sheathed her sword. Her decision was made. She turned to Veric and stroked his head.

"_Let us go, Veric," _with that said, she bounded after Formora with Veric running alongside her, his body moving as gracefully as a gazelle's. When she reach Formora, the Forsworn turned her head slightly to smirk at Arya as if to say that she knew that she would follow her. Arya merely returned her with a gaze that told her she was not doing this for Formora's sake but for Eragon's sake.

For the first time in her life, she wanted to curse. She had always thought that it was a foul way to release pent up emotion but looking at Formora, she thought that the situation fit. Pursing her lips to contain any ills words that could possibly escape, she continued to run beside Formora. Veric followed close behind to guard their rear. As they traveled, despite all of her judgments of Formora, she would not deny that the Forsworn was intelligent and cunning. Formora knew how to evade those chasing them. And whenever her plans were thwarted, she improvised with such quickness and ease that it seemed as if she held an unshakable confidence that she knew what she was doing. By night fall, they paused at a small meadow in the middle of the forest.

Lowering her pack, Arya unrolled her blankets and without another word, Formora lowered him onto them, catching his head before it hit the ground. Carefully placing a hand on his forehead, Arya frowned. His fever had risen. Her eyes flickered to his cracked lips. He needed water. Brows furrowing for a moment, she reached into her pack and pulled out a small wineskin. Uncorking it, a sweet smell wafted up to her nose. It was not water but the elven mead that was faelnirv. He needed his strength and seeing as he couldn't eat, this was the best way to give it to him.

She lifted up his head and carefully placed the wineskin to his lips, tilting it so that the wine flowed past his lips and into his mouth. When she was done, she was about to cork the wineskin before Formora took it from her hands and took a long drink from it.

Arya glared at the woman but did not say anything as she lowered Eragon's head back to the ground. She wanted to make a fire but thought against it. It wouldn't do to give away their location to the possible enemies that could be chasing them.

She took this moment to glance over Eragon. There were cuts and bruises on his body but it seemed as if he was whole. "I healed him," explained Formora sitting on the opposite side of their little makeshift camp. "He would have died of blood loss before I would have gotten him to the Varden for the antidote."

"I see," murmured Arya. Ignoring Formora, she healed the rest of his injuries until the only remaining indicator of his tortures were his battered and bloodied clothes and not his body. Now the only thing left for them to face was to bring Eragon back to the Varden before the poison overwhelmed him. They had to outrun the other Forsworn and their dragons.

"Where is your dragon?" asked Arya turning her head to Formora. Not seeing the great creature anyway in sight made her slightly anxious.

"He does not like people in general," said Formora as she corked the wineskin of faelnirv and tossed it back into Arya's pack. "I told him to fly towards the Beor Mountains in a ruse to make it seem as if he was going to hunt. He will be waiting for us there."

Arya frowned. She had heard the stories of the Forsworns' dragons. They were unlike Glaedr and his beauty and intelligence. With the Banishing of the Names they became crazed and simple minded. The loss of identity had reduced them to mere animals. She stared at Formora, wondering how the elf seemed so at ease when she was sharing a bond with a dragon that could no longer recognize itself. Did it not pain her?

"If you have something to ask, then ask," said Formora with a smirk in Arya's direction. Then she let out a dark laugh. "Even after all these years, it seems like your people are still living in an isolated world of useless manners and meaningless words. Elves never change, even if the world as they know it is ending."

Arya frowned at how Formora had excluded herself when mentioning the elves. Did she not see herself as one anymore? She opened her mouth to ask but then stopped herself. Why was she asking Formora such a question? _Because you still see Elvina in her, _her mind told her.

"Does it bother you? Obligations?" asked Arya as she slipped Brisingr from Eragon's waist and laid the sword by his side. She reached up to unstrap Vrangr from her back and laid that by his side, too.

"Not initially," said Formora her blue eyes catching hold of Arya's. She curled her legs in on themselves before focusing on Arya with a contemplative look. "It changed when I was chosen to become a Dragon Rider, I suppose. The moment I stepped foot into Doru Araeba everything changed. The world was so vast compared to that tiny forest. As beautiful as it was, it was also corrupted and sluggish." A look of utter displeasure surfaced on Formora's face.

"What is power when you have no use of it?" Formora's eyes narrowed. "What is duty when you did not ask for it? It becomes a burden."

"And so you decided then to side with Galbatorix," said Arya with a hard expression. She wanted to say more but lacked the words to. That combined with the idea that it seemed useless to even go into details about the reasons why Formora betrayed the order kept her from speaking. Instead she turned to Veric. "_Come here, Veric."_

The white Shrrg padded over to where she sat beside Eragon. With a smile, she reached up to gently stroke Veric's white fur before gesturing to where Eragon laid. "_Keep him warm, your master is rather ill."_

Without another word, she readjusted Eragon as Veric laid down by the blankets beside him, curling about his body to keep him warm. That would fend off the cold. Glancing at Eragon once more, she turned and withdrew an apple from her pack. Cleaning it slightly on her sleeve, she took a bite of it and was content to sit in silence until Formora spoke once more.

"How long have you and Eragon known each other?"

"Why would do you want to know?"

Formora shrugged her shoulders lightly. "Curiosity."

Not seeing the danger of telling Formora, Arya said, "Forty years."

The Forsworn eyed her for a long moment before nodding toward Vrangr, "Tell me, do you know who it was that forged him his sword?"

_A question even I am curious to know the answer to, _thought Arya as she shook her head in response. The look of curiosity on Formora's face only deepened. The two of them sat there in silence. While Formora seemed bored, Arya merely contented herself with the peace of the night. Despite her company, she could not help but feel at ease. It also helped to know that Formora was acting in Eragon's best interests. She would not act out especially with Eragon's life at stake.

"Do you love him?"

It took Arya a few seconds to realize that it was her who had spoken. She frowned to herself as Formora raised a brow in her direction but her eyes were skyward. "I suppose I do," it was one thing to assume Formora's feelings but it was another matter entirely to hear her state them. "Why would I be here if I didn't?"

At her stunned expression, Formora laughed once more and smirked at her. "Did I surprise you?" She scoffed. "Did you expect me to dance about your question like your people do, Arya? I was never one for riddles and I shall never be. If you ask me a question, I will answer you honestly if I feel so. There is no need for complexities. Or did you think that I am incapable of love?"

When Arya did not answer, Formora nodded as if she did.

"It does not make sense to you, does it?" asked Formora with an almost bitter looking expression. "How could someone like I, a traitor to her king, kind, and order, be able to love anyone but herself? For the longest time, I suppose that I only loved myself. I was the epitome of vanity and self-absorbance. And then one day, I come across a rather rude elf that had interrupted one of my bathes."

Arya blinked. This was the first that she had heard of such information. Eragon and Formora had first met in such a way? Oblivious to her thoughts, Formora continued to speak—more to herself than to Arya. "Rude, arrogant, and confident," her blue eyes gleamed as they landed on the sleeping Eragon. "I would be lying if I said that I was not attracted to him when I first met him. He challenged me like no other. I was interested and so I decided to follow him to Aberon and there I met him under the guise of Elvina. At first glance, one would think that he was someone of noble heart but when he speaks, it is with the eloquence of a blunt axe. It is appealing, is it not, Arya?"

"So you say," murmured Arya, quite uncomfortable with Formora's question. She had never viewed Eragon in a romantic light. He was fair and handsome but to her, he had always been someone to rely on without hesitation. He was a close friend, trusted confidant, and at times someone who she could go to for comfort. It made her feel odd when she thought of him in the light of a mate. Her eyes darted to Eragon and away.

"I only wish I'd met him sooner," said Formora, picking up a branch lying nearby to snap in half as if to vent her frustrations. "If I had, certainly life would not be so complicated now."

"Why are you telling me all this? We are enemies," said Arya quietly.

Formora tossed the broken half of the branch at her, the twig coming to land by her feet. "Perhaps but I have not had someone to speak to like so in quite a while. My dragon is not an option and Eragon almost always makes a mockery of what I say. You on the other hand, Arya, do not have the heart nor the spine to pass judgment on me if I do speak to you of such matters. You are, shall I say, a silent spectator."

She tossed the other half of the branch at her with a pleased expression.

Arya frowned at her but it was as Formora said, she did not say what she wanted to say to the Forsworn. She wanted to tell her that she was foolish, easily driven by her desires, and she was the one that lacked a spine. Instead, Arya merely turned her head and set her eyes on Veric and Eragon. What she wanted to say could wait. She did not want to waste her words on Formora. Words held more meaning when they fell upon the correct ears listening.

Reaching forward, she hesitantly glided her fingers over Eragon's hand before curling them about his long fingers. It was a gesture to tell him that he wasn't alone and she only hoped that he somehow understood despite his trancelike state.

_Facades can be deceiving, _thought Arya as she heard the chirping of crickets nearby. _I know that all too well now._

**So for all of you that were expecting a battle of epic proportions between Arya and Formora, I apologize. No matter how I wrote it, it just felt over-dramatized to me to have Arya attack Formora. She's always been a cool headed person (even if she is somewhat OC in this story). I tried writing it were they somewhat duke it out but it really felt wrong. So I had to revise and this was the way I decided to go instead. Hopefully, most of you won't mind. Some of you are probably wondering why Arya might have easily accepted this situation rather than fight it but in my opinion that makes her wise. Rather than waste time and fight a Forsworn when they are being chased by other Forsworn, dragons, Durza, and soldiers, she picks the option that gives the best results which is to momentarily accept a truce with Formora. It's not going to be all flowers and rainbows though. In any case, I feel as if I've said all I've wanted. I shall work on the next chapter and try to get it up soon! I don't know who's POV it'll be in. (Could be another Arya POV or it could be Eragon's) I'm still undecided. ****Anyways, see you all soon!**


	35. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

**Has anyone ever had moments where you just want to sleep forever? I've been having those moments on and off since my last update. I feel like I can just sleep and do nothing else. In any case, I worked hard to finish this chapter. It's in Arya's POV. Now before you all get to reading, I would just like to answer a few concerns. I've been meaning to address some points that Canuto-90 brought up. If you asked me, I don't think Eragon's devotion to Arya is worthless. They are different people I understand. This Arya isn't the same Arya that he loved in the RL but seeing as his soul is bonded with Arya's its hard to turn that off. I can't explain any more of what is to come of their relationship since it will give away too much of the plot. And I'm afraid I can't answer your questions regarding Saphira's egg and the possibilities of the 'other' Eragon because that would also give away too much of the plot. I can only say that I have it figured out and that such questions would be answered soon. Another point that I wanted to address that more than one reviewer has asked was the possibilities of a dual relationship. Seeing as I find that aspect rather demeaning to Arya's character (who is above having more than one partner) there will be no three character pairings or such. Remember, this story is strictly ExA (even if it will take a while to get there). In any case, with those concerns addressed, please go on and read. R&R!**

Traveling with Formora was more or less like traveling with Elvina but perhaps worst. Arya wasn't sure if it was the freedom of not having to hide beneath the façade of Elvina or something else, but Formora was like Elvina but a thousand fold. Whatever characteristic or trait of Elvina that was prominent before, it was obvious with Formora. She was blunt, honest, and willful. Whatever she wanted, she didn't hesitate to take hold of it. It was actually rather interesting and strange to watch. If Formora had any inhibitions, Arya would say that they were far and few in between. She was unashamed of what she wanted and of who knew. Formora was, for a lack of a better word, the epitome of freedom even though she really wasn't. Not in regards to Galbatorix or the Varden at least. Yet she didn't look worried. If anything, she appeared calm and collected.

"What are you doing?" asked Arya as she opened her eyes. She had been lightly sleeping when she heard the sound of rustling from nearby. Lifting her head from her arms on which she was resting it, she turned to focus on Formora. Luckily, they had managed to find an underground cave as they neared the Beor Mountains and after wandering deep inside, they'd been surprised to find a spring inside. While it was a very appealing thought to soak in the hot water, she wasn't comfortable doing so before Formora.

The sound of rustling continued.

Blinking, she felt her eyes widen slightly at the sight of Formora wiping Eragon's upper torso and face down with a white piece of cloth. Formora glanced at her and raised a brow as if to say that she didn't understand her sudden question. "What do you think I am doing?" she lifted his right hand and scrubbed at his skin, removing all the grim and dirt that had accumulated since the beginnings of his tortures. She turned her blue eyes away from Arya and continued to scrub away at Eragon's skin. "You can go back to sleep."

Arya frowned. She couldn't sleep especially since she felt uncomfortable with Formora taking care of Eragon in a way that mates took care of each other. She sighed, running her slim fingers through her hair to untangle several of the strands. She glanced at Veric who was busy gnawing on the deer that he had caught earlier. Arya stared at the bloody carnage for a moment before turning her head, watching as Formora began to run her hands through Eragon's hair to clean his dirty chestnut locks.

Her fingers twitched and she had half the mind to tell Formora to leave Eragon as he was and that when they returned to the Varden that he would be attended to but she held her tongue. "Is something bothering you?" Formora did not take her eyes off of Eragon as she lifted his head to bring the washcloth over the back of his head and behind his ears, taking special care of the skin near his face.

"Are you not worried in the least?" asked Arya finally getting to the heart of the matter. Formora did not pause in what she was doing and continued to clean Eragon, bringing the wash cloth to his broad shoulders to clean. Arya pressed her lips tightly together to ignore her rising irritation.

"Should I be?" Formora questioned her.

She did not answer the Forsworn. She was going to take it as a rhetorical question and leave it at that. In the few days he'd spent with Formora, she'd come to understand that with Formora, less was always more. Formora shifted a strand of her hair from her face, her blue eyes flickering to Arya, "In a way I am but when you contemplate it, there's no need for me to be worried. Whether or not I fight for Galbatorix or abandon him, I will always have a sword above my head, waiting to drop."

A humorless laugh left her as she paused in her washing and began to run a slim finger along Eragon's jawline. "If I remained as a Forsworn, either Eragon or that meddlesome human Brom would have come for me. Else I would have been killed in the game of politics and power that we Forsworn play with one another. You may not know it but the closer one is in Galbatorix's ring of power, the deadlier the opponents become."

Formora's blue eyes gleamed with a hard glint. "And even then you do not know the half of Galbatorix's extent. It will take more than a mere organization of fugitives and rebels to usurp him from his position," When Arya opened her mouth to argue, Formora easily cut across her. "It takes more than an army of humans and dwarves to scare Galbatorix. He has the Forsworn—which includes Morzan, one of the most fearsome Riders to exist—as well as Durza, the Ra'zac, and must I remind you the whole of the Empire. They may live impoverished and starved but they have sworn their loyalty to Galbatorix. If he told them to march to war, they have no choice but to do as he says."

"Whilst the Varden only has one capable fighter and leader and that person is Eragon," said Formora. Insulted Arya merely pursed her lips. She knew that she was not as skilled as Eragon but she was still confident that she could give a few expert swordsmen a decent challenge. As if understanding her silence, Formora continued, "You are not a bumbling fool, Arya. You and I both know that. You and I both know that your skills with a sword are exceptional. However, even then you are at a disadvantage in the face of adversaries such as Durza or one of the Forsworn."

Arya stared at Formora, fighting a distinct feeling of irritation that threatened to well up within her. She knew Formora spoke the truth and it stung. The fact that Formora was stronger than her made her annoyed. "What the Varden needs is a Rider," said Formora softly.

"You and your companions made certain that no Riders should exist outside of Galbatorix's circle," said Arya grimly as she was reminded of the deaths of the Riders of the old Order. Even if she was born a year before the Fall, she had always admired the Order of Riders and had more than once wished for a chance at being a Rider. It was a silly hope but she still held the wish deep in her heart. Her eyes darted back to Formora and her lips thinned. Formora had been chosen by her dragon and yet she had wasted that blessing.

"We are to blame," said Formora with a nod, not refuting her words. At the surprised look on Arya's face, she raised a brow and sent her a mocking smile. "Did you think I would deny the blame that you place on me? I am not blind, Arya. I know what I am well enough. I will not deny my past deeds in the face of others. It would be shameful to do so."

_At least she is honest with herself_, thought Arya with a small degree of respect for Formora. Bringing the cloth to Eragon's sides, Formora continued to devote her attention to cleaning him. It was still bewildering to know that a Forsworn was in love with her enemy no matter how she looked at it. What was more was that she was still irritated every time she thought of Formora deceiving them for thirty years.

_What would father think?_

The thought crossed her mind more than once. What would Evandar, her father and king, do in this situation? She shifted on the ground and crossed her legs as she watched Formora gently turn Eragon onto his stomach so that she could attend to his back. For some odd reason, Arya felt as if she had a duty to help Eragon as Formora was doing. Her fingers twitched and she pushed the thought from her mind. It would not do well to argue with Formora over Eragon's care.

It would seem petty. As she sat there and watched Formora attend to Eragon's needs, she couldn't help but ask the Forsworn a question that had been plaguing her ever since Formora's confession of her feelings for Eragon. "Why Eragon?"

This caused the Forsworn to pause in what she was doing. Her hand stilled and her expression was deep and thoughtful. If Arya didn't know any better she would think that Formora had thought about the question many times herself. She bit her lip lightly, her blue eyes darting to Eragon's prone form before they steadied themselves on Arya. "You never choose who you fall in love with," said Formora simply. "You just do. That's the only explanation I can offer that makes sense, even to me."

Arya tilted her head in response. "In a way it does," said Arya.

"Perhaps one day you will understand, Arya," said Formora her blue eyes gleaming as she stared at her with a wicked look. "One day you will find yourself inexplicably drawn to someone and will be at a loss of how to explain your emotions regarding him. When you do not see him, the anxiety never fades. When he is danger, you find yourself risking everything you have to save him. When you see his affections devoted to another, you cannot help but want to crush that person. Love is a strong feeling—strong enough to even change a person."

"There is no room in my life for such things," murmured Arya. She had never thought of love in the years she'd been alive. It seemed implausible for her to fall in love at such a tender age in elven society. Many elves waited until they were at an age deem acceptable by elven society to find love. She was still young even though by human standards she was older than most of her peers. And even if she was of a respectable age, she could not see herself with anyone.

_But there is Fäolin, _her mind told her. She paused, surprised when the image of the fair elf flashed in her mind. She shook her head to clear her thoughts, reaching up with her hand to nimbly rub her temples. Formora was unsettling her, that much was clear at this point.

"I thought the same as well," said Formora with a smirk as if she understood exactly what was going on through Arya's mind. She stared at the Forsworn for a long moment, pursing her lips. If there was one thing she did not need, it was a lesson in life from Formora. "And then I had to meet him." She nodded her head towards Eragon's motionless body, her left hand tracing the muscle on his back.

"You should not touch him so," said Arya, finally having enough of how Formora's touch seemed to appear so intimate to her. "He would not be enthused to know that you were taking liberties with his body."

Formora stared at her before she let out a short peal of laughter. "Taking liberties with his body?" She repeated in apparent mirth. She shook her head at Arya, her blue eyes gleaming. "You have a humorous way of stating things, Arya."

"I am only speaking the truth," muttered Arya.

"I have not done anything I would not dare doing when he is awake," explained Formora, continuing to trace meaningless patterns on the skin of his back. "Though I may like to bother and annoy him, I understand the meaning of boundaries well enough."

_What have you done with him? _The question was on the tip of her tongue but she held her words. She did not want to know the answer to such a question. The feeling it in evoked in her was strange. She felt angered and slightly possessive. Rubbing her temples again, she sighed quietly to herself. _I am not in the right mind when I am with Formora._

There was the rustle of cloth and for one split moment, Arya was horrified at the thought of Formora undressing Eragon any further but to her silent gratitude, the Forsworn merely returned the tunic to Eragon's torso. Unlike its earlier blood stained condition the tunic was cleaned and without a hint of crimson. Had she washed it?

"Do you think he is in pain?" asked Formora as she stared down at the sleeping Eragon.

Arya shook her head. "I would not know."

Formora pursed her lip as she stared down at Eragon. She was thinking of something, Arya could tell. Then after a pause, she spoke, her voice strangely serious and calm. "I am going to enter his mind."

"No," the word tumbled out of her lips before she could even give them thought. In the many years that she'd known Eragon, she'd come to learn that his mind was a sanctuary that he protected. His lack of contact with others mentally showed her just how much he cared for his own thoughts.

Formora did not seem to hear her and instead, focused her blue eyes on Eragon. The strange feeling that she'd felt for the past few days welled up within her. She wanted to protect him even from Formora, herself. Without another thought Arya reached out with her mind to block Formora's attempt to enter Eragon's.

She had expected a collision of thoughts and memories but not what happened to them. As her thoughts collided with Formora's and Eragon's, she felt a slight pull on her mind. It was as if something was calling out to her deep within Eragon and the further she fell, the stronger it became. Somewhere in the abyss, she could feel the presence of Formora's thoughts but it was overwhelmed by another's. It felt familiar, as if she'd known it all of her life. What was it?

Instinctively, she tried to reach out for some sort of hold to keep herself from falling too deep into what she presumed to be Eragon's mind. Yet, there was nothing for her to take a hold of. She just kept on falling. The deeper she fell, the more prominent the lull of music in Eragon's thoughts reached out to her. It was an eerie sound as if dark and soul consuming but it was beautiful. But most of all, it sounded familiar to her as if she'd heard it all of her life. The music gently caressed her, trying to ease her worries but she fought against it afraid that if she gave in, she would be forever lost in the temptation of Eragon's mind. She could only hope that Formora had the strength to resist as well.

Suddenly everything turned white and she found herself staring down at a memory from a bird's eye perspective.

_Dressed in silver armor, with Brisingr strapped to his waist and Vrangr strapped to his back, Eragon stood on a grassy knoll, staring out into the distance. His brown eyes were searching for something. He turned as the sound of light footsteps reached his ears to greet a woman dressed in elegant silver armor, an emerald blade resting against her right hip. For some reason, Arya could not see her face. But she could hear what the two were saying to one another._

_Then the woman reached out to take Eragon's hand and the two of them stood there together as if waiting for time to bring them apart._

As sudden as the memory was, she found herself being thrown back into her own body and gasped as she blinked, glancing about wildly. A soft sound echoed through the cave and she lifted her head to find Formora rubbing her forehead as if she was suffering a headache. What was that? What did they just see? The dull throb in her mind slowly abated and she sat up, glaring at Formora.

"That will be the last time you try to enter Eragon's mind," Arya warned the stunned Forsworn, her words borderline threatening. Formora's eyes darted to her but she did not say anything. Instead, a frown graced her features as she stared at Eragon's sleeping figure. Whatever had happened, he must have had wards in place to counter any invasion in his mind.

There was a slight sniff beside her and then a puff of warm air, graced the back of her neck. Arya turned to find Veric standing at her side, his amber eyes staring down at her. She smiled faintly at the Shrrg, her hand reaching up to stroke his head.

"_I am fine," _Arya reassured him. A low hum came from deep within Veric's chest and he slowly lowered himself onto his belly, his head lying close to Arya's legs so that she could continue to stroke his head. Idly doing so, she returned her attention back on Formora. "What is it?" from what she could see, the Forsworn looked distinctly bothered by something.

"Nothing you would understand," said Formora. Rather than feel insulted, Arya waited. When Formora aimed to offend, she did so quite well. Otherwise, she spoke frankly and it was in this moment that Arya understood that she was speaking her thoughts without hesitation. She was not deliberating trying to offend her.

"Perhaps if you would explain it to me, then I will," countered Arya.

"That woman in his thoughts," said Formora struggling to find words, her eyes narrowed. "I have never met her before and yet I feel as if somewhere I had come across her…There is also a matter of her sword."

An image of the emerald sheathed weapon flashed through her mind. Yes, she felt as if she'd too seen such a sword. "What of her sword?"

Formora's blue eyes were confused and she looked at a loss for words. Arya waited for her to gather her thoughts and speak and when she did, she merely said quietly, "No, it is nothing of importance." The subject closed, Formora stood and walked a few steps away from Eragon before lowering herself to the ground once more. She laid on her side. "Rest, Arya, we have a day's worth of travel ahead of us before we reach the Varden."

_And chaos will reign supreme when a Forsworn steps foot into the stronghold of the Varden, _thought Arya suddenly wary of what was to come tomorrow after they reached their destination. While she felt at ease knowing that Eragon would soon be receiving care for his injuries and the poison, she could not help but find herself worrying over Formora's fate. What was she supposed to say? What would Deynor expect of her?

_Why did everything have to be so complicated?_

The thought crossed her mind and with a fierce scowl, she did away with it. She was not going to start bemoaning her fate. That was not something that the only heir to the knotted throne should make a habit of doing. If she did so, it would only give her mother the pleasure of knowing that she was right in thinking that Arya was not fit for the duties of an ambassador for her people. No, she would face this and whatever consequences it would bring. She would be hounded no doubt about her lack of care when it came to Formora but the truth of the matter was that Formora would not do anything to jeopardize Eragon's safety and she trusted in that.

_And yet how do you absolve someone of their past sins? How do you offer them a chance at redemption? Is it even possible? _One good deed did not wipe away years' worth of misdeeds. Even if Formora had saved Eragon's life as Elvina and as herself, that did not exonerate her from her crimes. If Deynor was the type of person she thought he was, he would bring her to justice before the masses. It would be turned into a political frenzy. Not to mention the dwarves would want to have their say. If Formora submitted herself to judgment, they would want their revenge. It was a known fact that the dwarves resented the Riders, especially after many of the Forsworn—Morzan more so than anyone else—had terrorized their cities above ground and forced them to live underground in Farthen Dûr. The Az Sweldn rak Anhûin was the most belligerent of the dwarf clans when it came to matters of the Riders.

If it were up to them, they would have Formora and her dragon publically executed. She sighed once more feeling tired beyond all else. These past few days had not been easy. Worrying over Eragon and having to deal with Formora was enough to give her a headache that would last days. A small breath of air from Veric caused her to return to herself. Smiling at the white Shrrg that had offered her his silent support over the days, she laid down and allowed Veric to curl himself about her and offer her his warmth.

Tomorrow they would be with the Varden once more and she was already feeling the effects of her anxiety taking hold. Taking a deep breath, she released it and closed her eyes, allowing her conflicted dreams to take hold of her. Sleep had been her only momentary respite from reality and she was glad for it because in her waking dreams there wasn't war, sorrow, and vengeance. There was only room for the lush green forest of Du Weldenvarden and the laughter and dance that laid deep within the shadows of the pines.

The following day as they were traveling closer to the Varden, she felt her anxiety come to life as they followed the familiar path of the Beartooth River towards one of the underground tunnels. Her mind was conflicted and her heart heavy. Traveling with Formora had just reinforced the fact that the Forsworn and Elvina were one and the same. Despite their haughtiness and sarcasm, they were true to who they were. She could see well of them but her mind faltered whenever she thought of the crimes that she'd committed. Formora had betrayed the Order, slaughtered countless innocents for Galbatorix, and had supported the traitor and his rule in Alagaësia.

As they were running, she paused when she saw a shadow overhead. Ahead of her, Formora gave it no heed. Cautious, Arya continued to follow the Forsworn for another two miles before a gust of wind from above as well as the eclipse of a shadow made her pause. Knowing what it was before she glanced up, she turned her eyes skyward and was greeted with the sight of a large brown dragon. The creature bore down on them with a menacing stare and snapped its jaws a few times before it landed before Formora, who was calm and collected almost as if she was facing a horse or another docile animal than a dragon that looked ready to set the world aflame.

She paused and instinctively wanted to take a step back from the enraged dragon that looked more animal than the majestic creature it was born to be. Instead she remained still as it turned its large eyes on Arya and growled at her as if daring her to come any closer. She blinked and with a gesture of her hand, told Veric to stop. The white Shrrg came up behind her and stared at the large brown dragon with gleaming eyes as if studying a possible enemy.

Formora turned to her brown dragon and reached out to stroke its muzzle, "Do not be afraid," said Formora, her expression changing slightly making her look rather odd. If Arya didn't know any better, she would say that the elf looked as if she was in pain. "He will not attack you unless I tell him to. Or unless you provoke him of course."

Despite her words of assurance, Arya still felt rather cautious. Beckoning with a softly spoken word in the ancient language to Veric, the two of them approached Formora and her dragon. The brown dragon turned its gaze on her, his lips curling back to show rows of sharp teeth but he made no move to attack her. Her eyes darted to Formora, whose expression had returned to normal.

"You dragon is rather…ferocious," said Arya for lack of a better word.

"That he is," agreed Formora, shifting Eragon on her back. She turned back to her brown dragon and appeared to be communicating with him. After a few minutes, the beast blinked before without another word unfurling his large wings and with a push against the ground, soared into the air. "He will meet us at the tunnel entrance."

"You do understand that if you go through with this, you may end up worse off than you were with Galbatorix," said Arya refusing to move even though Formora had turned to face forward, about ready to break into a sprint once more. "Even if you love Eragon, will you not think of yourself?"

"Oh, are you worried for me?" asked Formora with a smirk and a raised brow. Arya merely stared at her. For once, she wished that Formora would take her words seriously and not like a matter to make light of. Despite everything she believed in, she wanted to give Formora the choice to leave before she could find herself imprisoned beneath the mountains of Farthen Dûr.

"I am not jesting, Formora," said Arya seriously. "Think about the consequences. The moment you enter the halls of Farthen Dûr, you will be branded an enemy—one that almost all of the Varden would wish to see dead."

Formora stared at her for a long moment, her eyes never leaving Arya's before an expression of understanding crossed her features. At least she understood what it was that Arya was trying to shine light on.

"I have thought about it," said Formora with a nod.

"Then why are you still intent of returning to the Varden?"

"Because I plan on staying by Eragon's side," said Formora. "I've already damned everything for this man, stopping now will make all of my efforts wasted."

Arya's teeth gritted together as she thought of the repercussions that would come down on her and Eragon's head when the truth came out that Formora was Elvina. There would be disputes and arguments over their trust and devotion to the cause of the Varden. Even if they didn't reveal the truth behind Elvina, allowing Formora to walk into the Farthen Dûr was enough to have Arya's credibility questioned.

There was too many risks involved.

"Are you afraid?"

Her eyes snapped back to Formora and she scowled. Now was not the time to talk about her. She could deal with the consequences of her own actions well enough but she wanted to Formora to understand that what waited for her was more complex than just having Eragon treated.

"This is not about me," Arya easily deflected her question. "This is about you, Formora. All of your actions have led us here."

"Perhaps," Formora shifted Eragon on her back again. "I said that I would take responsibility for my actions, wouldn't I?"

"The question is how."

"You will see soon enough when we reach the Varden," with that said, she turned about and without another word began to sprint forward once more. She only allowed a few seconds to elapse before she was following behind the Forsworn. She had tried to tell Formora otherwise but the Forsworn was stubborn and held onto her decision.

Therefore she shouldn't feel guilty if something were to happen to her, but a small part of her told her otherwise. She felt the corner of her lips curl downwards but said nothing else for the duration of their travels. What she wanted to say, she'd said. Anymore and Formora would either brush aside or make little note of.

By evening, they'd made their way to the tunnel entrance and Arya had nearly missed Formora's dragon for the hue of his scales nearly blended into the brown of the background. _He would make for a dangerous opponent. _The brown dragon lifted his head from his front paws and sniffed at the air, his tongue darting out as if to taste the scents that drifted about.

Formora turned to her dragon and seemed to communicate with him. Then she turned to Arya. "We will head in first and he shall bring up the rear," at Arya's hesitant expression, Formora merely continued. "He will not eat you nor Veric. There's no need to be hesitant."

_You say that so easily because he is your dragon, _thought Arya warily as she followed Formora into the tunnel, raising her hand and murmuring a few words to bring to life an emerald werelight that would guide their way through the tunnel.

Behind her, she could hear the deep breaths of the Formora's dragon but said nothing. She would trust in Formora's words for the moment. She'd yet to show her otherwise. As they walked, she made sure to keep her movements relaxed and at ease. She was cautious of the fact that Formora's dragon lacked the intelligent mindset that a regular dragon, like Glaedr, would have. If she made any erratic moves, she was unsure of how the brown dragon would react.

And if there was one thing that she was aware of, it was the fact that she was not particularly looking to become food for Formora's dragon.

"I can almost imagine the expression on Deynor's face," said Formroa as they walked. While the Forsworn appeared to be in good humor, Arya could not share in her sentiments. Instead, the anxiety she felt since last night had erupted in her veins.

"I cannot see why it would amuse you so," said Arya quietly with a slight shake of her head.

"The man always seems so collected," said Formora, not turning her back to speak directly to Arya but letting her words reach her ears. "It would be amusing to see what he would do when a Forsworn turns up on his doorstep."

The image of a battalions of soldiers came to mind but Arya did not say anything. They continued on in silence for another long stretch of time and as they neared the entrance into Farthen Dûr, she felt her body tense and her mind already beginning to look for a solution to their predicament.

But none came and all she could do as they stepped out into the open space was brace herself for what was to come.

**This story has reached the 1,000 review mark. Thank you to all those have contributed to getting TMF to its 1,000 mark. It's a wonderful feeling to know that this story is being received well by you, readers. Your reviews, of course, are what motivates me to write. And sadly, I wish I can update frequently but I've been too busy to devote all my time to writing so I try to write whenever I can. Anyways, keep up the good work everyone! Now to this chapter, it was more of a anticipation building chapter. The large time jump is going to be coming up soon, so I can't wait for that and I suppose things will get rough from here on out for Eragon, perhaps. I can't really say much more. In any case, I wrote this chapter mainly to also show Arya's confusion and how Formora's actions are affecting her even if she doesn't really recognize it. And it also seems as if Formora may know **something...in** any case, I shall continue writing. ****I hope to see you all soon.**


	36. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

**Happy Lunar New Years everyone! Well Lunar New Years was yesterday but my family is celebrating it tomorrow :) I decided to update today but don't expect another update for at least a week. I am very busy this upcoming week and I know for certain that I won't have time to write the next chapter. In any case, this chapter is another Arya POV. The next chapter will be Eragon's POV and I believe that the next chapter will be the last one before the big time jump. I hope I've dropped enough clues and such in this chapter to stimulate your brains! :) Someone asked about Formora redeeming herself. I suppose this will be answered in the later chapters. A great majority of you don't want to see her dead in this story (I think there was one reviewer who did). **Murtagh...we**'ll get there :) and as for the servants, they will definitely show up once more. In any case, happy reading everyone!**

"Ready!"

Arya froze when she heard Faramir's voice not far off. Like a practiced movement, she saw over two hundred archers reach for their arrows to notch on their bow. Before them, the swordsman slithered their blades from their scabbards, and standing directly at the forefront the spearmen stood, tall and unafraid.

She heard a quiet snort from Formora. "Impressive," she murmured with a slight hint of admiration. "Even the best of Galbatorix's dogs can't pull off such a formation. He's trained them well."

"Now is not the time for your sarcasm," hissed Arya as she overtook Formora with long strides. She had to get between the Forsworn and the Varden before chaos erupted. "And tell your dragon to stay behind us and not to _look _as if he might attack."

"Oh, will you be talking in my defense?" asked Formora, her tone sounded light but there was a slight edge to it as if she was tensed and ready for a fight. Had the time been appropriate, Arya would have felt a small sense of satisfaction to know that Formora was for once worried about the circumstances she found herself in. However, this was not the time nor the place for such matters. Walking further, she signaled for Formora to stop behind her. The heavy thuds of Formora's dragon ceased and that was all she needed to know that Formora and her dragon had heeded her words.

Head held high and not a trace of anxiety showing on her face, she stepped forward watching as recognition lined the faces of the soldiers. There was a twitch of movement in the soldiers that stood as a barricade before them, forcing them to remain in the area before the mouth of the tunnel and cutting off any access deeper into Farthen Dûr.

"Everyone, stay your hand!" Faramir yelled. Arya blinked trying to look for him amongst the soldiers. Her search ended when she caught sight of him standing at the forefront with Deynor, Rosalie, Angela, and Orik. She'd supposed King Hrothgar wasn't bothered for this meeting or perhaps he didn't have enough time to marshal his forces to come greet them. That was a good sign. Without the presence of the dwarf king, it could be easier for her to negotiate Formora's fate. "Lady Arya is with them!"

_They still have trust in me, _thought Arya suddenly feeling more confident as the warriors listened intently to Faramir. The young commander was staring at her or rather past her with a hard expression. His eyes were probably trained on Formora's large dragon that looked more threatening and ferocious than a few hundred soldiers could ever come close to. _At least they did not jump to conclusions and believe that I was working alongside Formora._

Her eyes caught Deynor's. His eyes were sharp and he was staring at her intently as if trying to divine the reason for her being in Formora's presence. She kept her gaze on Deynor before her eyes slid to Angela. Their first priority was to get Eragon treated. "Angela," in her mind, she willed the witch to remain serious and not start off in her eccentric ways. "Eragon is injured and he needs treatment."

She gestured behind her to Formora watching as their eyes slid to Eragon's motionless form. To her relief, Faramir was the first to react at the sight of the injured elf.

"You two," Faramir gestured to the two soldiers beside him. "Take hold of Sir Eragon."

They sheathed their blades and hurried forward. When Formora's dragon released a breath of air, Arya was impressed when they flinched only slightly but did not falter as they stopped before Formora, holding their hands out for the injured elf. With a frown, the Forsworn released Eragon and place him in their arms. He was instantly carried to Angela.

"He was poisoned with Skilna Bragh while imprisoned. Only Túnivor's Nectar can save him now," said Arya watching as Angela's eyes narrowed. The witch glanced at Eragon's pale and prone form before her eyes darted back to Arya with a silent promise saying that she would take care of him. Arya tilted her head slightly and she watched as the soldiers carried Eragon after Angela wishing she could go with them and see to it that Eragon was treated accordingly.

The last glimpse she had of him was his pale face which was lightly covered in a sheen of sweat before she turned her attention back to Faramir, Deynor, Orik, and Rosalie. All four of them were armed and from their tensed stance, she could tell that they were ready to fight if need be. Her eyes lingered on Orik. The dwarf was glaring at Formora, his hand gripping the handle of his axe tightly and his eyes burning with a fervor for battle.

Her eyes darted back to Formora and she inwardly cursed. There was no way to get through this without trying to act as a medium between the two forces. Formora was never one to take orders and if Deynor or Orik demanded that she submit herself to their authority, she would sooner fight than agree. Willing to risk it, Arya leveled Formora with a serious look before reaching out slowly with her mind to touch the Forsworn's. There was a slight twitch of Formora's brow as their minds touched but apart from that, she remained motionless.

Tentatively she lowered the barriers to her mind to allow Arya contact with hers. Almost immediately Arya fought the urge to wince. When she had tried to protect Eragon's mind from Formora, she had not been able to fully touch the Forsworn's mind. But this time, their connection was unimpeded and what she felt made her want to close her eyes and withdraw within herself. Formora's mind was strange and harsh like the chill of a frosty winter or the blaze of a smith's bellows. It was unforgiving and dark. _Was this because of her connection with her dragon?_

Trying not to stray too far into her mind, Arya kept her expression placid and collected. _Let me speak, _Arya told Formora. There was a shift in Formora's thoughts and she could feel an underlying sense of dissatisfaction from her. _It will do you no good to speak with Deynor only to offend him. I may not know you, Formora but what I've seen these last few days have made it clear to me that you have a tendency of overstepping your bounds in conversation._

_Do what you will, _Formora replied and Arya did not have to be looking at her to know that she was glaring at her back. Satisfied with Formora's answer, she turned her attention back to Deynor waiting for him to speak first. It was a subtle gesture of showing him that he had the authority in this situation.

Deynor stared at her for a long moment before he spoke, his voice grave and his expression critical. "What is the meaning of this, Arya?" He was careful, Arya observed, not to make blatant accusations. And that was when she finally realized the game of power that they were playing amongst themselves. Though Arya served in the Varden and underneath the leader of the Varden, she was still the ambassador of her people and therefore her loyalties laid with her king. If Deynor threatened or accused her of crime, it would reflect on her people. _And he couldn't risk such, _thought Arya in understanding. The elves were great allies to the Varden. While the dwarves housed them, the elves sent their support through supplies and such.

"Lady Arya, please step this way," Faramir was gesturing for her to join them and remove herself from the line of fire. _No doubt to give the archers a clear range to volley arrows at Formora, _thought Arya. Her eyes darted to the commander. He was one of the few that she could call her friend amongst the Varden. Faramir was young when she'd first met him but he had spirit and a mind of a leader. Yet, that wasn't the reason why Eragon had spoken to Deynor about appointing him as the commander of their forces. Above all, Faramir was kind.

"Not until we address the situation at hand," said Arya, her eyes darting to Deynor. His expression had become severe and a touched bewildered.

"Barzul! There is nothing to speak of!" Orik snapped, his eyes having never left Formora. "How dare you soil our halls with your presence! How dare you show yourself here!"

"Orik," Rosalie said her tone firm but yet comforting. "Calm down. I am certain that Arya has an explanation for this. We can trust her."

"I know that!" the dwarf snapped back looking ready to slam his axe into the closet thing he could find. "It's that wretched Forsworn I do not trust! How are we certain that she hasn't bewitched Arya?" Insulted that Orik should have such little faith in her, Arya narrowed her eyes. Had their situation not been so precarious she would have argued with Orik. Formora may be a Forsworn but with years of training her mind with her father, she had learned to guard the secrets of her thoughts well enough. "I would rather cut off mine own foot than trust in her and her blasted dragon!"

With that said, he spat angrily on the ground in Formora's direction.

There was a flash of anger in Formora's mind and thoughts of cutting out Orik's tongue emerged in her mind before Arya sent sharply her way, _enough, Formora. If you dare to show any ill will towards Orik, it will make our situation with the dwarf clans harder._

_I do not need to grovel at their feet, _Formora snapped back, her thoughts dark and foreboding. In response, she felt Formora's dragon shift behind her. Out of the corner of her eyes, she caught sight of the large creature lifting his head a little higher, his brown eyes trained on the mass of warriors before them. A puff of air left him, revealing rows of sharp teeth. Behind them, Veric made a low growl. _I know well enough that they would like to see me dead before allowing me further into their halls. There is no need for you to feign ignorance, Arya._

She bristled, her lips pressed into a hard line. This is exactly why Arya did not want her to speak directly to Deynor, not in the very least before all of these warriors. They needed to be somewhere with less prying eyes. _You are not making this any easier for yourself, _Arya told her as she tried to find a solution.

"It is for the best Deynor," Arya began, "If we can speak about this elsewhere."

_You surprise me, Arya, _said Formora as they watched the leader of the Varden contemplate Arya's words. _I had not expected to have you speak on my behalf. Are you not worried what your leaders might think of you trying to speak for their enemy?_

_I know well enough what it is that I am doing, _said Arya in return. She was not incompetent and nor did she not know the consequences of her actions. She just didn't want to see an organization that she worked so hard for erupt into chaos at the sight of a Dragon Rider that was one of their branded enemies.

_Then why?_

"I cannot agree with what you asked for, Arya," said Deynor and instantly she tensed. Would this inevitably lead to a fight? Would Formora and her dragon end up trying to escape the Varden? "Not until I understand why it is that a Forsworn would dare to show her face here. Nor can I trust what you say until you have been examined by one of our own."

"I am myself, Deynor, and no one else." Did he think that Formora was capable enough to overcome her mental barriers?

"That has yet to be seen," Deynor shook his head and she saw a slight gleam of apology in his eyes. "We must take precaution, Arya. Only then can I trust that you are who you claim to be and not someone else."

Back stiff and head held high, she stared at the man who she'd served since he was elected as leader of the Varden. If she rebelled against his orders, she would be going against his authority. The only way left for her was to agree with the condition he'd laid before her. With reluctance, Arya nodded.

"And you, Formora," Deynor turned to the Forsworn. "What brazen audacity is this? Why are you here?"

"Deynor, was it?" Arya let a breath pass between her lips as Formora strode forward with ease and confidence. There was only a slight tension to her actions and even then it didn't seem as noticeable. Her head was held high and proud and there was a slight smirk on her lips as she surveyed the Varden. "I see that Brom is not amongst you."

"Fortune has smiled upon you," said Deynor as he raised his hand to gesture for the warriors to keep still. "Had he been here, you would not have stood before us untouched as you do now. Now answer me, Formora. Why are you before me as you are now? Did you believe that you can merely appear in Farthen Dûr with leisure and hope to walk away unscathed?"

"I do not have a hard time believing so," said Formora her blue eyes piercing. "Mere humans can do little to harm me much less attempt to even put a scratch on me. I was not chosen by Galbatorix without reason. If I had wanted to do away with you, I would have done so the moment I stepped foot from the tunnel."

_Formora, _said Arya warningly as the expression on Deynor's face tightened and his fingers seem to twitch as if he was readying himself to give the order to attack. _Do not provoke him so. He will not hesitate to rain you with arrows._

_Let him try, _Formora's smirk seemed to grow slightly but she did not seek to anger Deynor any further. Instead, she brought a hand up to sweep a strand of dark hair behind her ear. A minute passed and then she spoke. "I come with a truce."

A murmur ran through the Varden and Arya allowed her eyes to sweep the ranks of the soldiers. Their expressions varied. From mutinous to curiosity, they all stared at the haughty and beautiful Forsworn, ready to act once Deynor gave his orders. Her eyes shifted to the others. Deynor appeared stunned. Orik was red faced and muttering into his beard. Faramir was staring at Formora as one would stare at an intricate puzzle as if trying to decide for himself what the Forsworn really wanted. The only expression that was distinctly different from the rest was Rosalie. She was staring at Formora with a look of recognition and Arya knew instantly that the talented and unchanging Rosalie had figured out who Formora was connected to.

_I have always liked Rosalie in a way, _Arya blinked not realizing that Formora had heard her thoughts. _Apart from her affections for Eragon, she is a decent person. _There was an underlying hint of possessiveness in Formora's thoughts but Arya paid no heed.

_You have more to worry about than those who are interested in Eragon, _Arya retorted, fighting the urge to turn her head and glare at Formora.

"Well?" prompted Formora, levelling Deynor with a look. "Will you accept my truce, Deynor? Or will you turn me away at the point of a sword, knowing full well that I possess the knowledge of Galbatorix's power?"

Everything clicked into place. Arya's eyes widened slightly in surprise and this time she did turn her head to look at Formora. She was standing proud and tall and most importantly, unafraid before Deynor and his warriors. Behind her, her dragon stayed with his large eyes trained on the possible threat before him. Staring at Formora in this moment, Arya understood why it was that Galbatorix had accepted her as a Forsworn and why she was still alive to this day when her brethren were being slain at the hands of Brom and Eragon.

Formora was powerful but more than that —she was cunning and confident in her own abilities. She had come prepared. She had known that appearing before the Varden would be as good as signing off her free will. But she had a means to bargain. Not only that but she was gambling on the chance that Deynor would see that defeating Galbatorix would be more important than bringing justice to Formora.

"Only if you submit yourself to us," said Deynor, his eyes hard. "And even then I shall not have a definite answer for you. We have our allies to consider and even if I accept your truce, they may not. However, if you surrender yourself to us, then perhaps we can give your truce consideration."

_Surrender myself to you? Not very likely, _thought Formora.

_You will have to, _said Arya. _If you refuse, you are putting Deynor in a difficult position._

Formora's blue eyes darted to her and they stared at one another for a long moment before she frowned and then gave a jerk like nod of her head. "Very well, if that is what it takes for you to consider my truce then I shall do as you say," her tone was sharp and her mind was a whirl of protest. There was a flash an image which gave Arya pause. It lasted for only a moment but an image of Eragon flashed through Formora's mind before it was gone. Feeling as if she'd seen something personal, she tried her best to stem their connection until only a feeble link connected them.

"I shall take your word for it," Deynor lifted his hand, raising his voice. "Men, surround them!"

Without any hesitation, the soldiers parted like a river about a boulder and circled about them. Not fazed in the least, Arya was glad when Formora's dragon did not act up. Instead, he seemed bored and his tail swung back and forth almost lazily. There was the sound of soft padding behind her and then she felt a warm breath on the back of her neck. Turning, she reached up to gently stroke Veric's muzzle. The white Shrrg was ill at ease with all the weapons pointed at them and he seemed to want to stay close to Arya.

"If you attempt anything, I will not hesitate to order my warriors to turn their blades on you," said Deynor walking forward with Orik, Faramir, and Rosalie following behind. The dwarf was still muttering mutinously underneath his breath. He was glaring at Formora and looked as if he wanted nothing more than to sink his axe into her flesh. _Now if the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin found out about Formora, there will be much turmoil from the dwarf clans. And there is also a matter of my father. _She knew without a doubt that she had to report this to Evandar and her people. It would be the utmost disrespect to him as her king if she allowed the Varden and dwarves to pass judgment on Formora without his deference.

"I should feel honored that you are threatened by me so," said Formora not the least bit afraid or so it seemed. Arya brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. Even now Formora was still making jests. "Or should I say that I should feel flattered to be more precise?"

_Now is not the time,_ Arya told her with a frown. Formora did not acknowledge her but from the tinge of amusement in her thoughts, Arya knew that she heard her. Deynor held Formora's gaze for a long moment before he turned to lead them away. "This way."

_Be cautious and do not make any sudden moves, _warned Arya as she followed behind Deynor. Formora made a quiet sound of exasperation before she followed behind Arya. All about them the circle of warriors shifted with them, keeping their weapons pointed on them or rather Formora. They swept past a sculpture of a peculiar animal with thick quills. The corridor curved sharply to the left, then to the right. A door opened and they entered a bare room large enough for Formora's dragon to move around with ease. There was a hollow boom as the door closed, followed by a loud scrape as a bolt was secured on the outside. Arya frowned as she waited for Deynor's further instructions.

Only half of the warriors that had encircled them, ranged the perimeter of the room and seeing them enclosed in a space with a fearsome dragon seemed to cause them to further tense. "You will be staying here until we decide to pass judgment over you and your actions," said Deynor as he turned to face Formora. "Do I have your word that you will not attempt to break free from here as well as not harm my people?"

There was a long stretch of silence that caused the leaden tension in the room to increase before Formora nodded, her expression rather grim. "I give you my word," she said.

Deynor nodded and then he turned to Arya, "I apologize Arya but I need to have your mind examined. I know that the most competent person for this task would be Eragon but since he is injured, I would ask that you cooperate with someone else."

"Do what you must," said Arya still somewhat irked that he would be weary of her. But she understood where it was that he was coming from. He was the leader of the Varden and as such he had a responsibility to the people to keep them safe.

"Let me, Deynor," said Rosalie stepping forward, her emerald eyes bright. "An elf's mind is dangerous territory. I'll naught lose a spellcaster if they were to wonder too deeply into Arya's mind out of curiosity."

"Very well," agreed Deynor.

Stepping forward until she stood directly before Arya, Rosalie inclined her head. "Are you ready, Arya?"

With thin lips, Arya nodded. She'd known Rosalie for a long time. Though she was human, Rosalie was different in the fact that she didn't age. Over thirty years had passed since she'd first met Rosalie, and the beautiful redhead woman still looked as young as she did when they'd first met. Without another word, Rosalie closed her eyes and probed Arya's mind with a tendril of thought. Trusting in the skilled archer, she lowered her barriers to allow her entrance. After a few minutes, Arya was glad that Rosalie had agreed to probe her mind to make sure she was who she claimed to be. She was quick and careful, making sure to stay away from the more personal and private matters of Arya's thoughts and memories. When she sifted through the most recent memories involving her stumbling across Formora and Eragon up to their arrival to the Varden did she withdrew.

"She is Arya," said Rosalie as she stepped back, opening her eyes once more.

A flash of relief crossed Deynor's mind as he nodded. "That is good to know," he smiled at Arya. "I apologize Arya but I had to make certain that you are who you are given that you are in…such presence." His eyes darted to Formora.

"It is understandable," said Arya.

_Understandable? Your feelings tell me otherwise, _said Formora. Arya felt her brows furrowed and purposely ignored Formora. It would not do to get into an argument with her before Deynor.

"As for you," said Deynor eyeing Formora, "I will have this room warded by magic as well as assign guards here. If you attempt to break free, this temporary truce that we have shall be rendered useless and I will not hesitate to kill you."

_Spoken like the leader he is, _said Formora with a tinge of amusement. Then her thoughts grew slightly darker. _However, as imposing as Deynor is, he holds no candle to Galbatorix. _There was a flash of another image in Formora's mind. This time rather than Eragon she saw a shadowed figure sitting upon a grand throne, an old jewel encrusted gold crown sitting atop his hand and a pale blade lying across his knees. Arya blinked, thrown off guard by the sudden image.

"Of course," said Formora despite the seriousness of her voice, Arya could not help but feel as if she were mocking Deynor and she was positive that the leader of the Varden thought so as well. He nodded and with a raise of his hand gestured for the others to follow him out.

"Arya," she turned as Deynor lingered by the doorway. "I shall be holding conference early morn with King Hrothgar and I wish to see you in attendance as well. There is much we have to discuss." As he said this, his eyes slid to Formora and he frowned, his hand instinctively going to rest on the pommel of his sword.

"I shall be there," promised Arya.

"That is all I ask." Turning on his heels, he exited the room, Faramir and Orik following behind him and behind them followed the soldiers. Bringing up the rear, Rosalie shot Arya a concerned look before departing with the rest. When the door closed behind her with a dull boom, Arya sighed disconnecting her mind from Formora's. Instantly there was a sense of relief that permeated her body. She had not realized how painful it was to keep in constant contact with Formora's mind and was surprised that the Forsworn was not in a horrid mood due to her own mental pain.

_Was that because of her connection with her dragon? _Arya asked herself again but she did not move to ask Formora feeling as if it were too personal a question.

"It is surprising that whilst I was Elvina, my living quarters were not as bare as this," said Formora, walking about the large and bare chamber. She turned slowly on the spot before a low chuckle left her lips.

"What is it that you find so amusing?" asked Arya running a hand through her hair. Her heart was beating irregularly in her chest and it felt as if she'd run miles. She hadn't realized how nervous she was until the situation was over—at least for the meantime. It was bound to come crashing down when King Hrothgar was informed of the situation not to mention her father. Her fists clenched. What was wrong with her? Why was she so concerned? Formora was her enemy…wasn't she?

_What is happening to me? When have I started to self-doubt myself?_

"The situation in general, do you not?" asked Formora, eyes gleaming. "I have lived here as if I was one of your own for nigh on thirty years and all of you accepted me without question, without threats. And to find out that I am actually, Formora—a Forsworn and your sworn enemy—I am a pariah amongst your midst. Strange how the world works. You would agree, wouldn't you then, Arya, that deception is oftentimes better than the truth?"

"I have no answer to such a question," said Arya eyeing Formora warily. "I shall leave to see to Eragon. While you stay here, do not do anything that would give Deynor or anyone else a means to act out against you. Your situation is already strained enough without any adage of crimes here. I will have a meal brought to you as well as several blankets and such."

"Arya." She paused waiting for Formora to continue.

"Yes, Formora?" she turned to the elf, who was wearing a serious expression on her face since the first time they'd stepped into the bare chamber.

"Take care of Eragon," she said in the ancient language, her feelings for the elf obvious in her sapphire eyes. "Do not allow them any reason to take up any sort of mistrust in him. Even though I disagree with him, the Varden is his life's greatest devotion."

The strange feeling returned to her once more. It was unlike a feeling she'd ever felt for anyone else. Not even Fäolin could garner such strong emotions from her. Arya blinked twice before she acquiesced to Formora's words. "I shall never allow them to do such," she tried to sound reassuring. "When he wakes, he will no doubt come to see you. You just have to wait a little while longer."

"That is why I am here," said Formora, with a slight upward curl of her lips.

"Do not forget it," with that said, she opened the door and stepped out, closing the door behind her. A sheen of emerald magic shimmered over it and it was sealed shut. Staring at the door that barricaded Formora and her dragon inside the chamber, she turned to Veric. The white Shrrg had been a silent companion by her side that she'd almost forgotten about him.

"_Take me to Eragon, Veric,_" she told him gently.

A deep sound rumbled in his chest and then he turned to the left and bounded off. Following behind him, Arya let him lead her down several hallways and turns until they came upon the hidden hallway that led to her and his quarters. Angela must have had him taken back to his chambers.

Walking up to the door, she placed her hand on the handle and with a turn of the knob, pushed the door open. Entering his spacious chambers, she kept the door open for Veric to follow in behind her before closing it quietly.

The sight that greeted her made her heart clench with worry. Had they been too late? Angela was bustling about Eragon's bed where he laid, pale, shivering, and sweating. Quietly walking up to them, she stopped alongside Eragon's bedside, watching as Angela tilted a bowl of golden liquid against Eragon's lips, holding his head so that he could drain the liquid.

"How is he?" asked Arya quietly as she watched the golden liquid flow between his lips. When the last of it was gone, Angela set the bowl aside and turned her eyes to Arya, a solemn expression on her face.

"He should be on the road to recovery now that I've given him the antidote," said Angela. "It is a good thing that he is in a trance else he would have been killed by the poison. One small drop is enough to kill." She reached out to place a hand on his forehead. "His fever is reducing. He should be right as rain in a few days."

"That is good to know," said Arya a feeling of intense relief flowing through her. She reached down and gripped his hand, squeezing slightly. His skin was clammy and the skin was slick with sweat but the temperature was dropping. That was a good sign, thought Arya. She squeezed his hand once more before releasing it. Opposite of her, Veric quietly slinked forward and rest his large head on the bedside beside Eragon only to be shooed away by Angela. A whine left his lips but he did not go against the witch's order and instead made himself comfortable in the far corner of the room, curling in on himself.

"How is Formora?" asked Angela conversationally as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

"Are you not surprised?" asked Arya surveying Angela with curiosity. She didn't seem surprised.

"Mildly," said Angela her own eyes studying Arya intently. "What surprises me more than finding out that Elvina and Formora are the same person is the fact that you do not seem as adamant as Orik or Deynor to incarcerate her. Why is that?"

_Why indeed? _Her eyes sliding away from Angela, she found herself staring at Eragon's resting form once more before she lifted her shoulders in a noncommittal gesture. "I am not sure myself," said Arya, she hesitated slightly. "All I know is that she is very sincere when it comes to Eragon's wellbeing. I am grateful to her for saving him that much I will admit."

"Is that so?" Angela tapped her chin thoughtfully with her forefinger before she raised a brow in Arya's direction. "Regardless, you and Eragon both have your hands full. Not only do you have to find reason to allow her to live but you also must find a way to keep the As Sweldn rak Anhûin from exacting their revenge on her."

"You think I have not thought of such?" asked Arya feeling her earlier headache returning. She closed her eyes and let out a breath. "There is little I can do with Eragon unconscious. I have my king to answer to. Only Eragon has the power to influence any opinions made by the leaders, you surely understand that as well as I do, Angela."

"I do," Angela lowered her hand and crossed her arms before her chest, a corner of her lips quirked to the side. "However, even then Eragon will be limited in how to speak in regards to Formora. Events are changing more than he thought."

"What are you talking about?" Confused at the sudden turn in Angela's words, she waited for the witch to clarify herself.

"Nothing of importance," Angela waved away her concerns. "At least not for the moment. I dare say that we should focus our efforts on what is happening now, in any case."

"There is nothing we can do," said Arya shaking her head. "We will have to wait to see what it is that Deynor decides."

"Wouldn't your king want a say in this?" asked Angela genuinely curious. "Formora is one of your people. It is only natural that he would want dominion over her fate."

"I cannot speak for my king," said Arya thinking of her father. "I shall inform him of Formora and await his orders."

As the words left her, she remembered vividly what Formora had said once to her. _You on the other hand, Arya, do not have the heart nor the spine to pass judgment on me if I do speak to you of such matters. You are, shall I say, a silent spectator._

Instantly her lips curled downwards as she realized how painfully true Formora's words were. She was the elven ambassador for her people and yet she had never felt so silent and unheard. _I should not let her words affect me so, _thought Arya but it was hard for her mind to fight her heart. Her eyes darted to Eragon and for a moment she wished that she had his unnerving self-confidence but she didn't.

_That is the difference between Formora and I, _thought Arya as she made her way back to Formora's chamber after having left Angela with Eragon and she walked, she paused, a strange feeling washing over her. She glanced behind her. It felt as if someone was behind her but she wasn't sure. She turned forward once more. Walking a few more steps, she stopped when she heard a soft rustle behind her.

Instantly alert and cautious, Arya continued forward luring whoever it was that was tailing her into a false sense of security. As she neared the hallway that led to where Formora was being kept she heard a distinct shift behind her. Hand flying to her sword, she turned drawing out her blade in time to deflect a dagger that was aimed for her throat.

Her eyes darted to the person that stood behind her. Whoever it was, the person was dressed entirely in black. From their short stature and build, she assumed that the assassin was a dwarf. Rather than continue their attack, the person instantly turned and fled. She ran after them. Rounding the corner, she stopped when she was greeted by an empty hallway.

_Was that person part of the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin? Had they heard word of Formora yet? _Keeping her sword in her hand, she cautiously glanced about ready to spring into action at the slightest sound but nothing stood out to her. Everything was silent save for her own breathing. Whoever that was, they were smart. Frowning deeply, she cautiously backed out of the hallway.

Sheathing her sword, she continued down the hallway. The assassination attempt had failed and she knew that the person would not attempt to try once more now that she was alerted to their presence. Bending down to pick up the dagger where it had fallen, she studied the black liquid that coated the blade. The dagger, she could tell from looking, was of dwarf make. Other than that there was nothing else about the weapon that could point out to her who the assassin was.

_How complicated everything has suddenly become._

Twirling the dagger in her hand, her frowned deepened as her troubling feelings coursed through her. Now the decision rested with her in whether she should inform her father about the assassination attempt or keep quiet about it. If she spoke out, her father would no doubt come to her defense, demanding for the suspect so that he could pass judgment over them. But if she did not speak out, the assassin would slip free.

_You are, shall I say, a silent spectator._

Her hand tightened over the pommel of the dagger. Careful to keep the weapon pointed away from her body, she turned making her way back to her quarters than to Formora's chamber. Whoever it was that was brave enough to attempt such a cowardly act, she would make certain that they would come to regret their actions. She was Arya Dröttningu and she would not have anyone make a mockery out of her or mistaken her for a weakling. She would make certain that everyone knew such, including Formora.

Enough is enough.

**Complications within complications. When will anything ever be easy for Arya? What I like most about writing Arya's character is addressing the black/white aspects of her that CP created for us. It's fun to create her character from the rather removed image of her that we get from the books. I just love writing Arya! (Can you all tell?) A few of you have apparently turned to the dark side (Haha) I'd never thought I'd see the day that Eragon is being shipped with someone other than Arya. I think Eragon and Formora would he a funny couple if they ever got together-at least in this story. Anyways, I shall be celebrating Lunar New Years with my family tomorrow! I shall see you all in a week or so!**


	37. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

**I know this is late but Happy Late Valentines Day everyone! I would have posted this yesterday but I was busy spending time with my loved ones! I hope you all had a wonderful Valentines Day as well! Anyways, this chapter took me a while due to my busy schedule so I tried to make up for it a little with a few things here and there in this chapter. I want to say that the next chapter would feature the large time jump but I'll have to see how you view the **ending...Ah**! Don't jump to the end now, read through the whole chapter first, silly! And OMG! Have any of you gamers bought FFXIII: Lightning Returns? That game is probably why I hadn't posted this chapter a few days early. It's just so good! (But I'm biased since I find Lightning's character so admirable even though quite a handful think she's a **stubborn...you** know). In any case, have fun reading! R&R!**

"You shouldn't push yourself too hard."

Eragon raised his brow as he sat with his legs folded about the mat that he had recently found himself occupying since he'd woken from his sleep-like trance two days ago. He eyed Formora from where he sat across from her. Despite the fact that she and her dragon were being held as prisoners, she looked as if she had no cares in the world.

"Am I the one being imprisoned in this chamber?" Eragon replied coolly. Formora glared at him, her blue eyes sharp and piercing.

"There was no need to be mean," she said just as coolly. They frowned at each other before Eragon relented. He sighed. He didn't mean to be rude but his head was aching and his body was still recovering from the poison. Angela had demanded that he stayed in bed for at least three days to heal but he had adamantly refused and in the end, the two of them came to a compromise at two days' rest.

"I apologize," he said flexing his fingers to ease his restlessness. "Events are moving fast apace. Your presence here has caused an upheaval within the Varden. The leaders are restless as to what to do and the tension is causing a strain to the alliance." He flexed his fingers once more. What he said was true. Ever since, Formora had arrived at the Varden without the guise of Elvina, the entirety of Farthen Dûr was in an upheaval. Deynor was busy consulting the Council of Elders to see what step to best take when it came to Formora. King Hrothgar had been too busy with clan meetings to come and spare his thoughts. They saw little of Orik as the dwarf clans counseled amongst themselves. But from what Eragon could tell, the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin was causing quite a storm. Out of all of the clans, they openly demanded for Formora's death.

_And then there is the matter of King Evandar, _thought Eragon as he pressed a finger to his temple. The elf king had arrived late last night. It had only had been three days since Formora and her dragon had arrived at the Varden. Evandar learning of Formora's presence in Farthen Dûr would have taken days if not a week or two to have reached Ellesméra by Arya's report. However, it was due to the king's duty to scry the lands did he come across the situation.

The shock of hearing from Angela that King Evandar was in Farthen Dûr had made him restless. What would the elf king decide? Would he cast Formora's fate to the infernal abyss of damnation? Or would he see differently?

_It just all comes down to the risk, _thought Eragon as he eyed Formora warily. _Are they willing to risk everything and trust Formora? That is the question._

"Diplomacy was always complicated," said Formora as she placed her chin in the palm of her open hand, a slight look of amusement coloring her expression. "If it were Galbatorix, he would see if I had any worth to him and if I did, I would be made to serve him. If not—well, it is not as if we do not know what happens to those who are useless."

"Would you rather we decide on such a small whim?" asked Eragon with a raised brow.

"It is faster and less deceiving if you want my honest opinion," she sighed. "All of this diplomacy, negotiations, and counseling reminds me too much of my time spent with the Order. Those fools would tarry for weeks on end to arrive at one simple conclusion and even then they were always so doubtful and weak minded."

He sat there absorbing her words, trying to understand the mindset that Formora was coming from. It was no secret that Formora detested the Order of the Riders. She had, after all, betrayed them to Galbatorix. But it seemed as if her hatred for the Order stemmed much deeper than a mere grab for power.

"Was there ever a time when you did not detest them?" He was curious to see what her answer to his question was.

Formora was quiet for a long time. Her blue eyes left his to train on a point on the wall not far off. He waited, watching her expression for any sort of indication to her emotions but as always, she hid her true thoughts well. "Not always," Formora's soft voice reached him and he stilled thinking that one wrong move could cause her to stop speaking. "There was a time when I believed the Order to be right and omniscient. I would not have sought to join the Riders if I had thought differently."

"What changed?" His question was soft but she heard it nonetheless.

"Me. Them…The world," said Formora, her tone dark. A few paces away, her dragon let out a puff of air, one of his eyelids peeling back to reveal a large eye. His dark brown iris was bright and trained on his rider. Eragon could only wonder what she was feeling as she sat before him, trying to sort out her thoughts. "I believed in their justice and their views until it became too hard to continue. They were not the great men and elves that I had thought them to be."

She made a sound between a chuckle and a scoff. "You and I disagree on many things, Eragon. But I have little doubt when I say that you and I can both agree that disappointment leaves a keen sting in the wake of great expectations. The leaders that I saw when I was inducted into the Order were old with age and weak minded atop their thrones. They were too confident in their power, history, and knowledge. All they did was counsel, laze about, and give little attention to Alagaësia. In short, they were an Order without meaning—without purpose."

"A life following them was pointless," she lifted her chin off of her hand and reached up to pull the sleeve of her left arm down to reveal a sliver mark on the fair skin of her wrist—the gedwëy ignasia. "What was the point in training and devoting all of my life to an Order that was slowly crumbling from within? It was pathetic. Yet, despite such thoughts there was no escape. I could not very well desert the Order nor could I have gone off on my own. Abandonment was never an option when it came to the Riders. The only escape I had was the offer that Morzan presented me."

"Not Galbatorix?" That was a surprise. He'd thought that Galbatorix had asked Formora firsthand to be his Forsworn.

"Galbatorix?" Formora scoffed this time, her red lips curled into a mocking smile. "That man did not have the power to ask such of anyone. He only had Shruikan hatch for him and Durza teaching him dark magic and little else. How could one human—a human who had recently lost a dragon and was humiliated before the Order in his request for a second egg—dare to approach other Riders and ask for their loyalty?"

"Then why did you?" Eragon frowned. He could not imagine being as prideful as Formora and bending his will to someone who looked as if he'd gone half-mad. "Why did you give him your loyalty if you think so little of him?"

"You say that only because you were never placed in my situation and perhaps in hindsight, I should not have given into Galbatorix," said Formora, her brows furrowing slightly. "Galbatorix gave me something that the Order never could. He gave me a sense of purpose, a reason to being a Dragon Rider. You cannot give a swordsman a blade and expect him to never use it. Therefore, why should you not expect the same of a Rider? Morzan presented me the chance of escape and I took it. Do I regret it? Perhaps I do, perhaps I do not. But I am here now, aren't I?"

Eragon was quiet. He could not think of anything to say to her. Who was he to judge her and her actions? He understood betrayal well. He had betrayed his king before. How could he judge Formora? Had he not wanted an escape as well?

Unbidden by him, a chuckle escaped his lips.

"Are you finding my words humorous?" asked Formora, coldly. He could tell without a doubt that she was irritated with him.

"No," closing his eyes for a moment, he gathered himself. Then releasing a breath, he opened them to stare into Formora's icy blue eyes. "You and I…are similar, Formora. We both betrayed those who we should have sworn our services to."

"I would have never thought," murmured Formora, eyeing him as if she was seeing him for the first time. "Was it long ago?"

"Yes," he made a motion of his hand. "You can say it was a lifetime ago. It is not important. Not now at least."

To his gratitude, Formora did not say any more about his words and nodded. She reached between them for the tray that rested on the ground and picked up a pear. Not trusting anyone to give Formora any food, he had taken it upon himself to bring her food himself. Rosalie had been doing so before he'd woken but he didn't want to burden her so he'd decided to do so. It was also a way for him to repay Formora for feeding him when he was imprisoned.

"Evandar is here," it was not a question but a statement. He nodded and reached down to pick up a knife and apple, deciding to occupy himself by peeling and slicing the apple into thin pieces.

"He arrived last night with a few guards," amongst the guards were a few elves that Eragon had been surprised to see. He had caught sight of Blödhgarm and his shiny, dark blue pelt amongst the ranks as well as Yaela and her silver hair. "I believe you will have to answer to him when the time comes."

"Odd isn't it? I betray one king only to face another," a humorless laugh left her lips. "There will always be someone to judge me no matter how hard I try to fight it."

"You find it burdening," stated Eragon as he easily peeled the skin from the fruit. She took a bite of the pear.

"Wouldn't you?" Formora retorted. "You may seem like you answer to Deynor but in truth, Eragon, you do not answer to anyone. Yet, many answer to you."

"I know when to bow my head," said Eragon as he easily circled the apple in his hand, removing the last of the skin of the apple before slicing it into small quarters to place on the plate for Formora. "Having too much pride can be a vice."

"Having too little can be one as well," she easily dodged his advice with a simple statement of her own. It was clear to him then that Formora was not intent on changing her personality in spite of her circumstance. She was a constant.

"Still, I cannot help you if you do not plan to yield to Evandar and the others," he cut the last slices of the apple and placed the knife down on the plate before picking up a square piece of cloth that was cut from white fabric to wipe his hand.

"You should not," said Formora quietly.

He paused in surprise, his eyes flickering to hers. Her blue eyes pierced him, the irises blazing with emotion. "Why not?"

"You said yourself that the Varden was your greatest life's devotion," explained Formora, her expression unwavering. "I would not want you to endanger your life's cause so that you could save me."

Unexpectedly he felt a wave of anger course through him. Sitting up straighter, he clenched his jaw as he pinned Formora with a determined gaze. "I had asked you to not make me out to be a coward, Formora," said Eragon sharply. "I will not be a coward and abandon a friend in her time of need."

Her blue eyes gleamed as she reached forward for a slice of apple. "You never cease to surprise me," said Formora lightly as she ate the slice of apple. A few seconds passed before she spoke again. "Before you leave to defend me, I have one question to ask."

"Then ask," said Eragon his earlier anger rapidly fading away. He was somewhat amused that Formora would even bother to tell him that she had a question. She would often times merely ignore him and ask without any hesitation. What did it matter if she had his permission or not? "You've never had such resvervations in the past thirty years that I have known you."

"There are some things that one should not ask outright," said Formora simply as she shifted where she sat. She was silent as she gathered her thoughts causing his curiosity to heighten. Then in a hesitant voice, she asked, "Did you know Arva?"

"Arva?" He repeated with a frown. He'd heard of the name before. It sounded familiar. Thinking for a long moment, he blinked. "The rider that was killed by Kialandí?" Formora nodded. "I know of him by word of mouth."

"Do you know the name of his sword?" All thought came to a halt in his mind. Why was Formora asking such a question? Why was she interested in Arva and Támerlein now? He could answer her truthfully and tell her that he did know the name of his sword but that would only bring more questions. He wasn't ready for her to question his past or his true identity.

"Should I?" Eragon easily deflected the questioned.

"He named it Támerlein," she spoke as if he hadn't answered her. "I have seen it before. It is a beautiful sword albeit different from what I am accustomed to fighting with. If one looks closely on the cross-guard, there is a line there that reads: _I am Támerlein, bringer of the final sleep._"

She eyed him as if waiting for him to react to her words. Careful to keep his expression clear, he nodded in slight interest. "It sounds like a deadly weapon."

"All weapons of Riders are," said Formora, bringing an end to that stem of conversation. Though they did not speak of Támerlein anymore, when Eragon left her half an hour later, he was bothered by her sudden curiosity. Formora was unknowingly stumbling upon connections to his past life. How she knew to ask about Arva, he would never know. However, he did know that he had to be careful about her from now on.

Walking swiftly through the marble halls of Farthen Dûr, he made his way towards the library. That was the only location that was still blissfully quiet these days. _It is humorous that just Formroa's mere presence has stirred enough activity in the Varden to last years, _thought Eragon as he entered the large library that was lined with shelves upon shelves of books. Weaving in and out between the bookshelves, he made his way towards the seemingly uninhabited back corner of the library, stopping in surprise when he caught sight of Arya standing by a shelf, a large tome opened in her hands and her head bowed as she read.

"Arya," said Eragon quietly, watching as she lifted her head, her eyes catching his. In her emerald eyes, he could see her apparent surprise. Instantly, he felt contrite for startling her. "I apologize if I startled you."

"It is of little concern," she closed the tome that she was reading. Her eyes flickered from his eyes to his feet and back to his eyes. "How are you feeling? I heard word that you should be resting today."

"There is too much to do to and lying in bed will not be a means to accomplish anything," said Eragon. He gestured to the book in her hand. "What is it that you are pursuing? Should you not be with King Evandar?"

"He is conferring with Deynor at the moment," said Arya, a frown gracing her fair features. "There is little for me to do when the monarch that I am representing is here." The way she spoke of her father gave him pause. Had something happened between the two of them? "I had thought to occupy myself here for the moment."

She showed him the spine of the book that she was reading. _Draughts of Death. _Poisons? Why would she be studying up on her knowledge of poison? "Are you planning to poison someone soon?" asked Eragon uncertainly.

She smiled and shook her head. "No, I was wandering about when my eye caught the spine of this book," the slight change to her expression told him clearly that she was being dishonest with him. What was she hiding that she needed to come up with an excuse to look at such a book? Was she planning on poisoning someone? He couldn't imagine her doing so.

"I see," he left her words unchallenged. She would tell him if she wanted to. Instead, he decided to take the conversation down another vein. "How have you been these last few days, Arya?"

"Does it matter?" She returned the book back to shelf in a fluid motion of her arm. Her face turned away from him. That was a strange thing for her to say. Unsure of where Arya was going with her answer, he waited for her to say more but as the seconds ticked by, it became clear to him that she had no intentions of continuing.

He reached forward with his hand and placed it on her shoulder so that she would look at him. What he saw in her eyes surprised him. There was a hint of uncertainty, self-doubt, and hesitation. It was in this moment that he was once more aware of the fact that their roles were reversed. In another life, he would have been the one filled with uncertainty and self-doubt and she would be there to comfort him. It was his turn to be there for her. He didn't want her to feel lonely like she did in his other life.

"To me it does," said Eragon truthfully in the ancient language, watching as her eyes widened slightly. He smiled at her and with his other hand reached up as if to caress her cheek but thought otherwise and contented himself with tucking a strand of her ebony tresses behind her pointed ear. "You are my close friend, Arya. How you feel means a great deal to me."

He withdrew his hand but kept his other on her shoulder. "Do not be afraid to say what you truly want to, Arya. I will listen to you." There was a flash of emotion in her eyes and he could tell that what he said meant more to her than she let on.

"Thank you," her words were quiet and heartfelt and she smiled at him, a smile that was so beautiful that he felt as if his heart was being constricted by its pure beauty. He nodded and squeezed her shoulder gently before withdrawing his hand. He did not want to overstep his boundaries. Friendship was a far cry from mates and if he did anything to offend her, he would never forgive himself.

"I think I should be the one to thank you," said Eragon. At her confused expression, he elaborated. "You came to find me with Veric and had it not been for you, I do not know how Formora would have dealt with the Varden."

As always, there was a tinge of a flush to her cheeks whenever he showed his appreciation for her deeds. She really was modest. His smile widened. "You would have done the same for me," murmured Arya as she stared off to the side.

"Without a doubt," agreed Eragon. He studied Arya and could tell that she was less tense than before. That was a good thing. His eyes darted back to the book that she had returned to the shelf. He wanted to ask her but caught himself once more.

"Eragon," he turned to her at the sound of his name, his lips parting to answer her when the hiss of air caught his attention. Moving on instinct, he reached forward and pushed Arya to the side as he felt something sharp pierce the skin of his right shoulder. Stumbling backwards, Eragon blinked as he glanced at the shaft that was protruding from his flesh. It was an arrow. The wood was painted black and had no markings on it.

_That was why I could not see it, _thought Eragon as his hand reached up to grip the black shaft. The library was dark naturally and was only lit with enough flameless lanterns to cast a dim glow about the bookshelves. It did not help that the area that he and Arya were in was backed by a wall and was a dimmer portion of the library.

"Eragon—" Arya began alarmed.

He shook his head as he snapped the shaft of the arrow, ignoring the pain in his right shoulder that was slowly coursing through his body. "There is only one exit to this library," said Eragon with a grimace as he straightened himself. "I will make my way there, circle around and cut the assassin off if he attempts to escape, Arya."

She looked hesitant but nodded, her emerald eyes hard as she darted away, flitting between the shelves like a shadow. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he turned and made his way to the doors that led out of the library. If there was one thing he was confident in, it was the fact that he could run faster than any normal human or elf could due to his transformations in his past life by Saphira, the Agaetí Blödhren, and merging his soul with Arya while consuming Asura's.

Vaulting over a table, he easily landed on his feet and continued sprinting. The stinging pain in his shoulder grew. Rounding a corner, he cursed when he came to stop before a bookshelf. Refusing to turn back, he sprinted for the wooden frame, both hands outstretched. Grabbing the shelf above him, Eragon easily pushed himself upwards. With his hands and feet, he easily propelled himself over the bookshelf. Rather than continue on the ground, he instead ran about on top of the shelves, jumping from shelf to shelf. Below, he could see the assassin running between the wooden frames.

Leaping from the shelf he was on, he dove for the assassin. The two on them went tumbling to the ground and into another bookshelf. Eragon grunted when he felt a strong fist slam into his stomach, he rolled onto his side to avoid a kick to his torso. He was about to retaliate but was saved from doing so when a leather booted foot slammed into the assassin's chest, sending the man tumbling backwards. Chest heaving with effort, he tiredly got to his feet, a hand coming up to touch the growing wet patch on his tunic. The remaining length of shaft of the arrow prodded his skin.

Then without another word, he shifted his leg and kicked the assassin with enough force in the chest to knock him unconscious. Gathering his breath, he watched as Arya reached down to remove the mask from the assassin's face to reveal a dwarf. He had a long, braided beard and from what Eragon could tell he was rather young.

"Does he have any sort of symbol or crest on him that could identify which clan he could be from?" asked Eragon as Arya searched the dwarf. She shook her head. He cursed quietly underneath his breath. Of all things to happen, it had to be this. Not only that but he was never going to hear the end of it from Angela if word reached of the attempt on his and Arya's life reached her ears. Catching Arya's focused expression, his eyes shifted back to the dwarf. "Do you recognize him from somewhere?"

"No," she shook her head then more to herself than him, she murmured, "He must be the same one."

"Same one?" His eyes widened in surprise as the implications of her words sunk in. "You mean to say that someone has tried an attempt on your life, Arya?" She did not respond to him but her silence was enough. Feeling a wave of fury encase him, he snarled. "When did this happen?"

"A few days past," she stood. "It was a failed attempt but I did not think the assassin would be so bold as to strike again."

"Or foolish," he started in anger moving to grab the unconscious dwarf and shake him awake to demand why he targeted Arya but winced as the pain in his shoulder heightened considerably. "Why have you not told Deynor of this? Is it because of the situation with Formora?"

"Telling him would only cause for the possible outbreak of conflict between the Varden and the dwarves and there is also the matter of my king," she frowned. "I do not like staying silent about such matters but it is a necessity. The bonds of with our allies grow more tenacious as the days go by. This will only serve to strain such bonds even further."

Selfless to the end, that was Arya. He wanted to smile but found it inappropriate for the situation. "You could have told me," said Eragon. He scowled as he glared at the dwarf wishing a terrible death upon him. "In any case, the thought matters little now." He gestured to the assassin. "What do you want to do, Arya? We cannot let this dwarf go unpunished nor do we have the authority to pass judgment on him."

"We have little choice but to take care of this matter ourselves," she said, her lips drawn into a hard line. He nodded.

"Then we must do so now," said Eragon as he made to crouch forward only stopping when Arya turned to him, placing a hand against his chest. He froze, not expecting such contact from her.

"Let us tend to your injury first." Consenting, he straightened and gritted his teeth as he waited from Arya to pull the arrow from his shoulder. Slim hand wrapping about the wooden shaft, her eyes flickered to his and then with a swift tug, the arrowhead was pulled free from his flesh. A hiss of air escaped his teeth as he felt a new flow of blood drench his tunic. The pain which flared the moment Arya had pulled the arrow had subsided as Arya's magic within him healed the wound.

"The arrowhead has no traces of poison," Arya observed as she studied the bloody metal head.

"Then we can assume that the assassin was confident in his skills alone to kill the both of us," said Eragon as he knelt on one knee to study the unconscious dwarf. "We may not be able to punish him but that does not mean we are at a disadvantage."

"What do you mean?" asked Arya as she set the arrow aside on a nearby table, swiftly coming up to his side. She knelt beside him, her eyes trained on the dwarf.

"We use him as a means to an end," said Eragon simply. A look of disapproval flashed across Arya's face and though it was brief, he could tell the idea displeased her. "It is dishonest but necessary, Arya."

"I know well enough," she did not have to say anymore for Eragon to understand what she meant. She was the elven ambassador of her people. It was a given that she would understand how to play in the game of politics that they were tangled in.

"I am almost certain that this dwarf is from the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin," he frowned. "Their protests are causing quiet the stir in Farthen Dûr. If we use this dwarf to threaten Vermûnd, he would be certain to yield."

"I cannot—" Arya began looking troubled.

He swiftly cut her off. "I shall do it and not you," he refused to budge on this point with her. "I have nothing to lose, Arya while you have your position as ambassador."

"I cannot ask you to do so for me," protested Arya, her troubled expression growing.

"If it makes you feel better," said Eragon as he prepared himself to tear through the dwarf's mental barriers. "I shall do this for Formora. If I can get Az Sweldn rak Anhûin to stop their cries for her blood, I can give her a fair chance when the leaders debate over her fate in the Varden."

His eyes darted to Arya once more and her expression confused him but he did not have time to contemplate as he returned his concentration on the dwarf before him. He knew Vermûnd from his previous life and knew that if he sent an assassin to do away with their lives, the chosen assassin would be trained well in his mental defenses. Taking a deep breath he gathered himself before he delved into the assassin's mind.

Just as he'd expected, he was met with a substantial amount of resistance. The dwarf was trained well. His barriers were difficult to break through but if there was one thing that Eragon had above him, it was the fact that he was trained by Galbatorix. Compressing all of his efforts in one point, he spearheaded through the mental barriers. There was a cry of pain from the dwarf before him as a plethora of thoughts and memories bombarded him.

Sifting through for the one that mattered, he felt a feeling of triumph course through him. The assassin was indeed sent from Vermûnd, his memories were proof enough. After a moment of shifting through the rest of his memories to find any information that could be useful, Eragon was pleased enough with what he'd managed to obtain. Withdrawing from the dwarf, he stood satisfied. "He's given me the information I needed," said Eragon as he turned to Arya.

"What will we do with him now?" Arya's eyes darted to the unconscious dwarf.

"I will take care of him," said Eragon. He easily reached down and picked up the dwarf, slinging him over his shoulder. "You should see if the meeting has finished as to not arouse any suspicions, Arya."

"Be careful, Eragon," said Arya in a soft voice as she disappeared between the shelves with one last look at him. Nodding to himself, he swept the remains of the arrow up and carried the dwarf from the library being careful not to be seen. Rather than bring the dwarf back to his quarters, he went the opposite direction.

"What on Alagaësia are you doing?" questioned Angela as he entered her chambers.

"Accommodating your room momentarily," replied Eragon as he tossed the dwarf unkindly onto the ground. "Do you have anything to tie him up with? And perhaps something to drug him with as well? I shall need him as a bargaining tool."

There was a great deal of bustling before Angela was upon him with a frown and a thick, metal chain in her hands.

"Here use these chains," she passed him a thick chain. "They are impervious to magic. He would not be able to break free wrapped up in such. As for a drug, well I can certainly make one. However, before I do, will you kindly explain as to why your tunic is covered in blood and this unconscious dwarf that you are harboring. I may be your friend, Eragon, but make no mistake if you think I condone any illicit activities."

"You know me well enough to know that I have honor, Angela," said Eragon rather disgruntled at her words. In short, clip sentences, he told her of the assassination attempt and what he'd learned and when he was done, Angela was nodding in approval.

"Vermûnd was mistaken when he believes he can outdo you," said Angela shaking her head, "By all means, use this assassin as a means to an end. It has been getting far too uproarious about here. I cannot work when everyone is screaming at each other over a dispute that can be easily resolved."

"You think it is easy?" Eragon tightened the chain about the dwarf making certain that the metal was constricting but not so that it would make it a struggle to breathe.

"I would say so, but I was never one for politics," she eyed his tunic before tossing him a spare. "Here, wear this. If you are seen as you are, word will spread and I doubt you can keep secret to Deynor about what has happened if he is intent on finding out. I suppose I could make your life miserable by telling you that I was right in wanting you to rest for three days but had you been bedridden, Arya might not have survived a second encounter with this assassin. Therefore, I shall leave you at peace for now."

"Thank you," he tugged his ruined tunic off and changed into the new one, glad that he was not going to be lectured by Angela.

"Oh, and when you leave, do go visit Formora. She has something of importance to speak with you about or so she tells me," said Angela mysteriously. Eragon raised a brow. He was not overly shocked to know that Angela had somehow managed to visit Formora when Deynor had made it painstakingly clear that no one was to have access to the Forsworn except for a select few.

"How was she? More prideful than Elvina?" asked Eragon curiously. Angela and Elvina had always been on pleasant terms but that did not mean that she and Formora would be as well.

"Different from Elvina but not in an unpleasant way," Angela smirked. "She certainly has spirit and wit, much so now that she has revealed herself to be a Forsworn."

Eragon snorted. "Only you would think so," his eyes darted to the dwarf as he made his way towards the door to leave. "Will you be fine with this uninvited guest?"

"If he bothers me, I can always find a use for him," with that said, she turned away from Eragon and began to gather strange glass vials of violet liquid to take to her cauldron. Deciding not to trouble her anymore, he left and made his way back to Formora.

_Things have certainly gotten out of hand, _thought Eragon as he walked, cautious of his surroundings. He had never expected Vermûnd to have the audacity to strike out against him and Arya. But the fact that he did angered Eragon. If Arya had been injured, he would never forgive him. _If he'd known that he'd targeted the daughter of King Evandar, he would have thought twice about such an attempt on her life._

Despite the fact that Eragon wanted Vermûnd to be held responsible for his actions, he had to side with Arya. They couldn't do anything yet, not with the state of the Varden. If it came out that there was an attempt on both Eragon's and Arya's life, everything would be thrown into an uproar. They had to tread carefully.

Nearing the door to Formora's chamber, he nodded to the guards stationed outside and they bowed their heads to him in return. Pushing the door open, he entered the large chamber. "You asked for me?" asked Eragon as he closed the door behind him, his eyes darting to Formora who was pacing about the room.

"The witch was not lying when she said she would tell you," said Formora as Eragon approached her. There was something about the elf that bothered him. She seemed hesitant and even _afraid._ Instantly on alert, he came to a stop before her with a frown.

"Is something amiss? Has Angela done something to bother you?" his frown deepened at the thought of the herbalist doing something to make Formora uncomfortable.

"No, she has been pleasant company. In any case, I have spoken to Angela on numerous occasions as Elvina, she treated me no differently," Formora easily dismissed his concerns with a wave of her hand but the emotion in her eyes bothered him.

"Then what is it?" pressed Eragon, wondering why she was like so.

Formora fell silent and it seemed as if she was trying to gather her strength. A long moment passed before she lifted her eyes to his and spoke.

"Eragon," he did not pull away when she reached forward to place a hand against the side of his face, her blue eyes searching his. Whatever it was that she was looking for, it seemed as if she'd found it for he could see her resolve hardening. "I wish to give you something."

His brows furrowed. "What is it?"

Eyes gleaming, she released a gentle breath before saying in the ancient language. "I wish to tell you my true name."

**The ultimate sign of trust...I suppose Formora wants something like that more than anything else since all she knows is betrayal...Anyways, while you all stew on that, I just want to tell you all that I am conflicted. In all honesty, this Formora arch of the story has gone on for several chapters and I want to end it here to do a time jump. If I do that, I can incorporate reflections on this moment to give a full story on how the Varden decides Formora's fate. Or I can go through another chapter writing about this. It depends if I want to get to the introduction of Selena, incorporation of Faolin, and the eggs sooner. And to be honest, I'm itching to write about the egg(s)! Depending on your reviews, I may or may not go a certain away. Or depending on how I feel when I write the next chapter. I may take a little longer to post the next chapter since I'm going to be contemplating my decision over this. In any case, I have to rant. I got the new FFXIII game and I have been vegging out with it for the past few days. I love it and yet there is this bitter sweetness since it's the last game of the installments. And the ending just...killed me! Ugh! That was my two cents on the game. But seriously I love FFXIII. And I will probably devote more time to it over the next few days so updates may be slow. (On an unrelated note, I also preordered the remaster edition of FFX and FFX-2). ****But look forward to them! See you all soon!**


	38. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

**And so I decided to continue the Formora Arch for two more chapters. After that would be the time jump and such. I'm sorry for the length in updating but I've been busy with this new independent project that is taking up a great deal of my time and I'm afraid to say that it will continue to do so for a few months. Hopefully, I'll be able to continue updating this story even though it may be infrequently in between. But don't worry too much, I'll work hard to finish this story. Anyways, there's not much that I want to say except for happy reading! R&R!**

There were no words to describe how he felt as he stood before Formora, trying to understand the extent of her request. She wanted to tell him her true name but he could never give anything back to her in return for it, could he? Telling her his true name would be the same as declaring his true identity to her. Trying to reign in his emotions, he studied Formora intently. Her expression was serious and touched with a hint of anxiety. Knowing that if he reacted wrongly to her true name, he would only mean to insult her. Eragon tried to search for the right words to say. This was unlike the exchange of his true name with Arya in every way possible.

"Formora," said Eragon quietly hoping that his words could adequately voice his feelings. He had never been one to speak about his emotions openly and even now after having known Formora for more than thirty years, he still had trouble managing. "I cannot give you anything in return for such."

"I am not asking for anything in return," said Formora, her cold and mocking demeanor gone to be replaced by an elf maiden that he hardly recognized. Her eyes left his to focus on her dragon momentarily. Making no effort to elaborate, she stood there allowing the silence to lengthen and Eragon's mind to try and make light of her sudden decision. "Will you hear it?"

"You have nothing to prove to me, Formora," said Eragon, trying to sound reassuring. If she was having doubts about her situation, he would put her to ease. She needn't tell him her true name because she thought she had to.

Formora shook her head and levelled him with a resolved look. "I am not trying to prove anything. I know what I am, Eragon. I had told you once before and I will tell you again that I have no self-doubts about myself nor my history. I merely wish to tell you my true name."

"It does not excuse the fact that I have nothing to give you in return," said Eragon adamantly. He refused the notion of having Formora's true name at his fingertips without her having nothing to have leverage over him with. After living many years underneath Galbatorix's rule and without any freedom herself, he did not want to have her chained to his authority.

"If it bothers you so," said Formora as she reached up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Then think of my telling you of my true name as part of my own selfishness and not otherwise. Do not think of it as anything else."

Eragon fell silent trying his best to think of a response to Formora only to come up empty handed. Eventually, he found himself asking her, his voice low and the ancient language flowing from between his lips. "But why? Why tell me your true name?"

She chuckled lightly as her blue eyes returned to his, a hint of her usual spark within the sapphires. "How unlike Galbatorix you are," observed Formora. "Had it been him, he would have taken it all in stride whether he had something to give in return or not. Your belief of fairness and justice has always been interesting…Why do I want to tell you?" She closed her eyes in contemplation before opening them once more. "You gave me the will, Eragon. You gave me the will to break free from Galbatorix."

He blinked as a touch of bitterness shifted Formora's features. "After agreeing to join the Forsworn, my will was all but taken from me by Galbatorix. My dragon's will was taken from him by the _Du Namar Aurboda— _the Banishing of Names. What was I but a puppet to a king who was growing paranoid and power hungry as the days went by? I had given up seeing life for what it really was and was ready to accept my fate and do Galbatorix's bidding for as long as I lived. And then, you came along."

Her sapphire eyes sparkled as she held his gaze which no doubt showed his surprise at her truthful confession. "From first glance you were arrogant, aloof, and harsh but I would not deny that I was curious as to who you were for I have never met you on Vroengard and I had heard word that you were responsible for killing Aegnor. Yet, in that one instance when you rescued Elvina, I came to understand that you were selfless and strangely kind." Eragon raised a brow and Formora's lips twitched as if she was fighting a smile. "Albeit, you lack any sort of mannerism and your bluntness oftentimes came across as rude—little faults in your character but they are what defines you."

"Thirty years I have spent as Elvina trying to understand you better and in turn, it helped me to understand myself better," she hesitated, her fingers clenching and unclenching just like he would his, were he nervous. "I had always been…alone, Eragon. My dragon was—is—unable to fill that void for he is without a mind of his own. I cannot enjoy his company as I once had anymore. Everything always seemed so bleak but knowing you helped bring back what I lacked in life. Being with you…I never felt lonely. Without knowing it, day by day I found myself changing. The change of my true name is testament to that."

She smiled at him and it was a dazzling smile that showed no hint of mockery, scorn, or indifference. It was radiant enough to match that even of the sun's. "I wish to tell you my true name because I want to trust in someone else for once and know that they require nothing of me. Trust me, Eragon, just as I trust you to bear my true name."

"Formora, I…" Words failed him and he found himself falling silent as she took another step towards him, her hand reaching out to cup his cheek once more.

"Will you listen to my true name, Eragon?" she asked quietly.

_I do not deserve to, _thought Eragon as he held her gaze. But he would not deny her. She was putting her trust in him after years of betrayal and putting her lot with the wrong Rider. He would listen to her true name and protect it just as he'd promised to protect Arya's. He would show Formora that she wasn't wrong to place her trust in him.

"If you deem me worthy enough," said Eragon solemnly. Her red lips curved upwards into a faint smile and she leaned forward, to whisper into his ear a name that meant her entire being. He felt a slight tremor in her hand as the words left her lips, her breath ghosting over his ears and then she was silent, waiting for his response.

Closing his eyes, he heard her name ring in his mind and how much it represented Formora. It encompassed her coldness and mockery just as it showed her underlying kindness. Formora's loyalty was the key to her true name but also the weakness of it. She was loyal to a fault to those she laid her lot in. Then there was her anger and resentment at the loss of her dragon and the pain she felt whenever she felt his pain. What really stunned him was how much she wanted to trust in others but found herself lacking or rather, she found the world lacking of those for her to trust. Her weaknesses, her strengths, her dreams and wishes, and her insecurities were all laid out for him and he understood them just as he understood her now. The puzzle that was once Formora was now complete and she was giving it to him without asking for repayment.

Suddenly, he found himself wishing he could give back to her his true name but if he did, it would only cause her to question what she knew of him with what his true name spoke of his character. And there was also the fact that his true name was tied to Arya's even if it was not obvious to the casual observer.

"Your name," Eragon began, opening his eyes to meet Formora's, "fits you. It is a good name, Formora. I will guard it with my life since you have trusted me with it."

Her smile widened and she lowered her eyes to the ground, deep in thought. After a minute, she released her breath and returned her focus to him. "Not only guard it, but use it to guard your life, Eragon."

"I do not understand." Confused, he waited for her to elaborate.

"I cannot make you a sword like Vrangr to protect you," said Formora, her eyes darting to the sword that rested against his back. "But I can give you my true name to do so, at least in regards to the Varden." When his confused expression didn't change, she continued. "You had told me on numerous occasions that the Varden was your life's greatest work, Eragon. What is happening now is going to change that if you cannot stop it…use my true name if you have to and put an end to this turmoil that is plaguing your people."

"I will not use your true name for such a cause," Eragon shook his head, his expression hard.

Formora made a sound between exasperation and a scoff. "This is where you lose to Galbatorix. Your morals are not worth your life," she said looking as if she wanted to roll her eyes.

"Mock me if you will but I will not take a gift you have given me and make light of it. Your true name is not a bargaining chip, Formora," said Eragon, his determination as hard as brightsteel. "Do not make me out to be Galbatorix."

"Then do not use it as a means to an end," said Formora, eyeing him as if she was willing him to try and understand her point of view. "Use it in appearances. Allude to it, mention it, and give your leaders a reason to trust in your judgment. If you are to defend me, Eragon, that is all I ask. It is not a sword but it is as good as one in a political battle such as this."

He stared at Formora as if he was seeing her for the first time. He had not thought that she had cared for him enough to give him her true name. In part it was also to protect herself and keep the truce from being cast aside by the Varden but she had meant it to protect him and his cause to the Varden. Like she said it was not a physical sword like Vrangr but it held the same weight, at least in his mind. He thought of Vrangr and how Arya had forged the blade so that he could use it to defeat his enemies and protect himself in battle. She had done it out of love and now Formora…

_My only regret is that I cannot return her affections, _thought Eragon feeling a tinge of despair in his heart. He did not want to seem aloof and ignore Formora's affections but it was impossible to return the Forsworn's ardor when a part of Arya still remained within him. But could he have loved Formora if he had met her first? Trying to imagine himself in such a situation, Eragon found himself unable to do so.

"I do not know what to say," said Eragon eventually.

"You do not have to say anything, just having you listen is enough," said Formora simply. They were too alike, thought Eragon as he evaluated the Forsworn, seeing her in a different light than he had but moments before.

"Thank you, Formora," said Eragon seriously as he reached for her, deciding to do something for her that he had never given thought to before. As if he were reuniting with an old friend, he pulled her into his arms and embraced her. He heard her quiet gasp as his arms wrapped about her waist. "For trusting in me."

She didn't respond but he felt her hand against his chest and how her fingers flexed against his tunic. After a moment, he pulled away and was glad to see her back to her usual self but there was a hint of something else that spoke of her true person.

"I wonder what would happen if I met you first," wondered Formora, her eyes flickering to Vrangr. Eragon stared at her for a long moment trying to picture her beside Arya. He believed that his heart would still belong to the elven princess.

"We can only wonder," said Eragon as the door to Formora's prison opened. Eragon tensed as Blödhgarm and Yaela strode through, their expressions masked but a hint of distaste on their features, followed by King Evandar and Arya. The elf king stared at Eragon with a questioning look before his gaze turned to Formora. It was then that Eragon was able to see firsthand that Arya's cold stares came by her naturally. Behind the king, Arya's emerald eyes were focused on him and he could see in them her confusion.

"Evandar Könungr," Eragon greeted him respectfully as Formora leveled the king with an indifferent stare.

"Of all the people you would bow your head to," murmured Formora for only Eragon to hear, "It would be the king of the elves."

"Do not speak to offend," Eragon barely moved his lips as he responded to her. "It will not do well to anger the one person who holds the most power over your fate." Formora's brows furrowed and her lips thinned but she made no move to mock the king as she had Deynor. Hoping that she could keep such a façade, Eragon returned his attention to King Evandar as he stopped before them, his two guards standing directly behind him. Coming to stand beside her father, Arya held his gaze for a moment, some sort of emotion flashing in her eyes before turning her gaze to Formora.

The tension at the moment was so thick that it felt tangible. Glancing between the Forsworn and the king whom she'd abandoned, Eragon cautiously spoke, his words calm and collected for he did not want to startle anyone into pulling out their weapons. "I apologize for not coming to greet you formally, King Evandar."

Evandar turned his gray eyes on Eragon. "It is of little concern. You have just recovered from your injuries during your imprisonment," his eyes flickered to Formora before returning to rest on Eragon. "I am glad to see you are well."

"Had it not been for Formora and Arya I would not be standing here," said Eragon, taking a risk to show his position on where he stood about the entire debate over Formora's fate in the Varden. If anything, his spoken words caused the atmosphere to plummet. Evandar stared long and hard at Eragon and then his eyes turned to Formora.

"Yes, I would believe that our gratitude should lie with them. I am proud that Arya has sought to rescue a friend and trusted companion in his time of need. However, I do not trust your role in all of this Formora," said Evandar, his eyes hard.

"Within reason," said Formora, not bothering to show any sort of respect to the king. But Eragon knew that asking any more from her would only be pointless. She was already putting in her best efforts and he knew he could trust her as she had trusted him with her true name. "I must say, it is an honor to see you step foot outside of Du Weldenvarden for my sake."

_I spoke too soon, _thought Eragon as the Forsworn's comment washed over them. The looks of displeasure became more pronounced on Blödhgarm's and Yaela's face. Arya's brows furrowed dangerously as she had to stand witness to the Forsworn mocking her father whom she held in the highest of regards.

Evander regarded Formora with piercing gray eyes before he spoke but not to her but instead to his guards and Arya. "Wait outside," he ordered surprising them all. "I would like to speak with Formora and Eragon alone." The three of them looked ready to protest but when King Evandar held up his hand to silence the beginnings of any, they fell silent and with a bow of their heads retreated.

Watching as they left, Eragon's eyes made contact with Arya as she was the last to leave. In her emerald eyes, he could see how difficult it was for her to leave. She wanted to stay by her father's side, naturally. Though she tried to conceal it, Eragon understood Arya well enough to know that she was upset that her father would send her away as if he didn't trust her. Trying to convey his feelings to Arya, he sent her a reassuring look as she softly closed the door behind her.

"Now," said Evandar when the three of them were alone, "Let us speak our thoughts and nothing else. And make no mistake Formora that I will not leave until I have the truth from you."

"Taking to threats already, Evandar _Könungr?" _asked Formora, her eyes focused on the king.

"Enough jesting, Formora," said Eragon, his tone firm. If they could manage to convince Evandar not to have Formora done away with, it would leave him with less work to do. Then all he had left was to speak with Vermûnd.

"I am not bothered by it," said Evandar, his tone stern and yet calm as his gaze never wavered from Formora. "A Forsworn's respect is unneeded by me, especially if she is a traitor to her people, brethren, and order."

The only response to Evandar's words was a quiet, menacing growl from Formora's dragon as it seemed to sense the potential threat against Formora. Eragon eyed the brown dragon and as if understanding his stare, the creature quieted.

"I should say that I should not be shocked that you decided to show up at the Varden to incite chaos into the leaders and the people. What is it that you want, Formora? Has power not been enough for you? Has the fear that the people harbor when they see you become insubstantial that you must bring it all the way to the Varden?" Evandar's eyes narrowed. "Tenacity is unbefitting of you."

"I do not need you to tell me what is fitting and what is not," said Formora, her gaze hard. "I do as I please. I wanted to join Galbatorix and so I did. I wanted to help Eragon and so I did. I do not need you to say otherwise. You are not my king."

Evandar did not say anything for a long moment. He studied Formora as if trying to divine what it was that the Forsworn was seeking. After a long moment, he spoke once more. "This is not Galbatorix's Empire, Formora. You are in the dwarves' territory and outside of Farthen Dûr lies Surda and then Du Weldenvarden. Unless you wish to renounce Alagaësia, I would suggest that you tread lightly."

Formora looked ready to argue but when Eragon caught her eyes, she stopped herself and allowed King Evandar to continue. "Had it not been for the fact that you saved a close friend of my house, I would have not given you any consideration in these deliberations," said Evandar humbling Eragon once more. "Yet, you saved him and have brought him and my ambassador safely back to the Varden. Do not be mistaken Formora that these two deeds will be enough to wipe away your past crimes."

Understanding dawned on Eragon in that moment. King Evandar felt indebted to Formora for not only saving Eragon, a vital part of the Varden, but for making sure that Arya returned to the Varden unharmed. If Formora had wanted to, she could have left Eragon for dead or until he was dragged by Morzan to the feet of Galbatorix's throne. She could have fought Arya for they were sworn enemies but she didn't.

"Then why are you here?" asked Formora, her gaze turned away from Evandar but focused on her dragon. "To lord your authority over me?"

"You may deny it Formora but you are an elf, being a Rider and a Forsworn does not change that," said Evandar, a frown coming onto his face. "There was a time when I was your king. I saw you off on your journey to Vroengard to join the Order and though you have long since abandoned your people, I cannot say that I have disregarded all of your transgressions. I am the only one that has any right to judge you. Take away the Varden and the dwarves and what remains is a woman who has betrayed her kind, nothing more."

Formora laughed mirthlessly, shaking her head. "You have abandoned the safety of your forest to merely come and exert your authority over me? You came to show Deynor and Hrothgar that it is your right to pass judgment over me? My, how petty you have become."

Rather than becoming angered, Evandar made a motion of his hand. "Say what you will but you know just as I do that you would have had to answer to your crimes in due time, Formora. Are you so cowardly that you would deny me my responsibility as your king to see to them? If you had any pride, you will not fight against me. When your betrayed the order half a century ago, you gained power under Galbatorix. Now that you have betrayed Galbatorix, you will have to resign yourself to your past crimes."

"Your responsibility as my king?" Formora repeated. She turned away from the king, her hands clenching into fists by her side. "The past has a way of reemerging it seems."

"You can forget but that does not mean the rest of the world will," said Evandar, his tone resolute. "I came here to meet you Formora not only because I have to see the traitor with my own eyes but to offer you one chance to convince me why it is that I should not see to it that you and your dragon never see the light of day."

Eragon opened his mouth to speak in defense of Formora but then found himself abruptly stopping himself. He would protect Formora, he knew that. Yet staring at King Evandar, he knew that it was more important for Formora to regain her footing before the very person whom she had once represented as a Dragon Rider. She needed to do this for herself. If she was serious about abandoning Galbatorix, she had to prove herself.

Both Evandar and Eragon watched as Formora turned and walked away from them, appearing agitated. Her pride was no doubt taking a battering thought Eragon. "I am guilty for each and every crime I have committed," said Formora keeping her back to them. "I will not deny them nor will I plead for innocence and forgiveness. To do so is to deny my history. However, I will give you one reason and perhaps this will compel you from condemning me."

"And what is such a reason?" asked Evandar, his expression not betraying what he truly felt about the Forsworn.

At his question, Formora turned to him, her eyes ablaze with emotion and when she spoke it was in the ancient language. "The both of you know of the Eldunarí, do you not?" Eragon and Evandar stiffened and Eragon's eyes darted to the doors of the chamber. It was a good thing they were warded. "Then you both know that the source of Galbatorix's power is from them. That man is too weak to be strong enough to control an entire empire without them."

"What of them, Formora?" asked Eragon wanting her to get to the heart of the matter and not speak of such sensitive matters only to lead them on.

"My freedom for theirs," said Formora simply as her eyes flickered to Evandar all mocking and sarcasm gone from her expression. At their expressions she elaborated. "I have quite a few since Galbatorix is too occupied to think much of the ones that he has given to us, his Forsworn. After Eragon and that fool, Brom, began to conveniently pick off one Forsworn after the other, I managed to gather the Eldunarí they had and kept them for myself. Galbatorix never suspected."

"How are they?" asked Eragon wondering if their state of mind had been shattered yet.

"The answer depends on personal observation," said Formora as she drew herself up to address king Evandar. "Now, the question remains with you, King of the Elves. Will you agree to my trade or will you deny me and forsake the remnants of an Order lost to Galbatorix?"

The king's face hardened and Eragon waited on bated breath for his decision. He knew that Evandar was thinking of Oromis and Glaedr as well as Formora's act of treason and betrayal. Would he see Formora's usefulness or would he cast her aside? It was a conflict of morals as well as politics.

"Even if I did grant you what you desired, I cannot trust you not to terrorize those living outside of the Empire," said Evandar shaking his head. "Freedom without boundaries can alter those with power. Your word, Formora, is not enough."

"Then I shall give you my word," said Eragon watching as surprise entered Evandar's eyes. "I will take responsibility for Formora. If she does anything to betray us, I shall accept punishment along with her." Formora opened her mouth to argue with him but one look from Eragon caused her to concede to his wishes. "I understand that my word alone is little comfort but I swear I shall not let you down, Evandar Könungr."

"I have always trusted your instincts, Eragon," said Evandar. "However, your word will not be enough to convince a people to trust in their sworn enemy. Formora may have the means for us to fight against Galbatorix but she could easily turn against us if she so wished."

"Not when I know her true name," said Eragon stunning Evandar into silence. The moment the words left his mouth, Eragon instantly felt as if he'd ate something rotten. Even if it was only for appearances, he felt too like Galbatorix in the moment.

Even without saying anything else, Eragon knew that his words were enough to change Evandar's mind about Formora or at least make him pause in his considerations. Evandar was silent for a long moment before he nodded curtly. "Then Formora shall be your responsibility, Eragon."

That was all he said before he swept out of the chamber, leveling Formora with one last look. When he was gone, Eragon released a breath of relief and turned to Formora with a raise brow. She made a noncommittal gesture and from the aura about her, he knew that she was not in the mood to speak anymore. Wanting to leave her to her thoughts, he said a brief farewell and left the chamber.

The promise of the Eldunarí as well as Formora being under Eragon's supervision seemed to change the situation significantly when it came to Evandar. He knew that the elf king would do anything he could to free what Eldunarí he could and though Eragon disapproved of Formora using them as leverage against Evandar, it was the only way in her situation.

As the door closed behind him, he was surprised to find Arya waiting for him, an unreadable expression on her face. Unsure of what it was that was bothering her, he approached her saying cautiously, "Are you waiting for me, Arya?"

At the sound of his voice, she turned to him. He took a moment to examine her features. They looked strained and she appeared to be paler than normal. Concerned, he waited for her to speak.

"King Evandar requests to speak with you," she said simply.

He frowned at the sound of her voice. Though she tried to hide it, he could hear the underlying exhaustion in her tone. "Are you feeling unwell, Arya?" He couldn't remember a time when Arya was sick in his world but if she was coming down with something, he would have her rest immediately. He didn't want her to overwork herself.

"No," she shook her head, averting her eyes. Stung by her response, Eragon decided to take the risk and he reached out to cup her face in his hands watching as her eyes widened slightly at the contact. Keeping his gaze connected with hers, he studied her features. There was a slight hint of weariness in her eyes and from what he could tell it didn't seem like she was sleeping well.

"Are you not sleeping well?" asked Eragon in the ancient language, practically forcing her into honesty.

Her lips thinned and a dangerous expression flashed on her face for a moment. One thing that he understood best about Arya was that when it came to her well-being, he often had to push boundaries for her to admit that she was not taking care of herself enough. This was just one of those times and he would say that forty years of friendship was more than enough to give him permission to look after her. After a silent struggle, her lips parted and soft breath left her.

"I have been…busy as of late," Arya answered hesitantly in the ancient language.

Busy? His mind tried to take the ambiguous word and apply it to a situation that made sense. Was it her father? Was it Formora? Or was Vermûnd causing her troubles once more? At the mere thought of assassins trailing after Arya, his blood began to boil and his expression darkened into a stormy rage.

At the sight of his sudden fury, she brought both hands up to lay atop of his, the pressure snapping his attention back to her. "It has nothing to do…with what happened in the library the other day," said Arya, alleviating his fear.

"Perhaps you are overworking yourself too much," said Eragon as his thumb ran across the silk of her skin. "The situation with Formora is something I can handle."

"No, I must show my king that I am his ambassador in every word and right," said Arya unintentionally revealing to Eragon the source of her problems. Eragon blinked. It was odd thought Eragon as he stood there closely with Arya. His Arya never gave much thought to what Islanzadí thought of her but the one before him was determined to bring honor to her father.

It was strange to see Arya dependent on her father's approval. Then again, hadn't he also wanted his father's approval at one point in time?

"I know that I am in no position to say this, Arya," Eragon began watching as she opened her mouth to no doubt refute his words. He smiled at her as he continued, his voice soft and only for her ears. "But I believe that King Evandar is proud beyond words about what you have done for the Varden during your time spent as elven ambassador. Do not worry too much about what he might think and only focus on your duty. You cannot fail by doing so."

"I just—seeing him in conference with the other leaders made me realize how much I truly have to learn to be representative of my father," murmured Arya, her emerald eyes tired but determined. "There is still much left for me to do if I am ever worthy enough to be called my father's ambassador without feeling as if I am lacking."

"I do not believe you are lacking in the slightest. You are a capable and talented woman, Arya," praised Eragon, his smile widening as she averted her eyes. "Any father would be proud to call you his daughter. I see no shame…So hold your head high and show the world your capabilities."

Holding her face in his hands for a moment longer, he released her, his hands dropping to his sides as she, too, lowered her hands. Her emerald eyes which appeared dim moments before were bright and shining at him. The two of them shared a smile and with an incline of her head, they both began to make their way down the hall with Arya leading him to wherever it was that Evandar was staying.

Deciding to move on from Arya's moment of insecurity, Eragon asked, "Has Evandar Könungr told you why he wanted to meet with me?"

Arya shook her head. "He merely said that once your were done to request that you see him."

That was odd. What could the king possibly want with him? The two of them walked side by side, enjoying the comfortable silence that had settled between them and when they approached a corner, he felt soft fingers curl about his own. Pausing in surprise, Eragon turned to Arya to see that she had stopped moving and was staring in the opposite direction from him, her face slightly flushed.

"Thank you for comforting me," her soft words floated over to him. "I do not say it often but your words mean much to me, Eragon."

He smiled even though Arya could not see it with her head turned. He gently squeezed her fingers. "Do not be afraid to speak with me, Arya. I will always be on your side," he said sincerely as he uncurled his fingers to let her retract her hand. She nodded and spirits uplifted, the two of them turned the corner, coming to a corridor in which stood one lone door that both Blödhgarm and Yaela were guarding.

"His Majesty is awaiting your presence," said Blödhgarm formally which made Eragon feel awkward since he knew Blödhgarm in his other world. Nodding, he exchanged one last glance with Arya and entered the room. Closing the door, he glanced around the living room of the extravagant quarters and using his senses made his way to the study where he found Evandar standing in, drinking from a ceramic teacup.

"You asked for me, Your Majesty?" asked Eragon.

Finishing his drink, Evandar lowered the teacup to the desk and turned to him. "I merely wanted a moment of your time to speak with you," said Evandar as he stared at Eragon from head to foot. "How are you feeling?"

"As I should."

"That is welcoming news, when I heard news about your capture, I held little hope in that you might be able to break free," he smiled slightly. "I am glad that you had escaped and are well. Though, it is odd to think that Formora would be the one to save you." At Eragon's expression, Evandar continued. "I was told by Arya that Formora is the same as a woman named Elvina, who has lived amongst the Varden for nearly thirty years."

"I apologize," said Eragon as he bowed his head to Evandar. "I was the one to examine her memories to see if she was a threat. I had not thought that Galbatorix had taught her methods to cover her identity and was unable to see through the fake memories and thoughts in her mind."

"What is done is done and I do not blame you. If you were fooled, think of the hundreds of others that would be as well. What I called you in here for is because I wanted to ask you a question without Formora within our midst," at Eragon's alarmed stare, he chuckled. "No, I will not ask you about her true name. I trust you, Eragon. The question I want to ask is: do you trust Formora?"

Cautious of his answer, Eragon nodded. "I do. In the thirty years, she'd lived as Elvina, she has never given me reason to distrust her. I believe she has changed. Her true name is evident of such."

"I will trust in your word," said Evandar. "Though Arya speaks to me about the events about the Varden, there is no one better to look to than you when asking about the state of the organization. I trust that you will protect the Varden that you devoted so many years to building."

"What of Oromis and Glaedr?" asked Eragon.

"I believe they will understand. Formora is willing to hand over the Eldunarí in return for her freedom, I say that is a fair enough trade so long as you are there to keep her under your scrutiny," said Evandar. "As for the rest of the elves, they will understand that there must be concessions to be made in war if we want to come closer to victory. The only difficulty left to deal with is the dwarves."

"I shall take care of it," said Eragon with a determined expression.

"I know you will."

The king fell silent signaling to Eragon that the conversation was done and over with. Saying his farewells, he moved to leave before the king called to him once more. "And Eragon, take care of yourself. You are invaluable to the Varden and a close friend of my family, but above all you are perhaps, Arya's only friend amongst the Varden that has not been swept away by death either by time, disease, or weapons."

A feeling of warmth blossomed in his chest at Evandar's words and he nodded. Exiting the room, he nodded to the two guards stationed outside and turned down the hallway intent on finding Vermûnd and sorting the dwarf out.

He was going to teach the belligerent dwarf clan chief the consequences when it came to targeting Arya and when he was done with him, Vermûnd would not have it in him to raise his hand against Arya nor his head during the next clan meet to decide Formora's fate.

**To be honest, my birthday was Thursday and I was celebrating with my friends and family so I didn't have time to finish the chapter. But I did get a lot of presents! In any case, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. The reviews was pretty much split fifty-fifty with the last chapter about whether or not to do a time jump or continue Formora's arch. I decided to do the latter as you all can tell. In any case, there's not much I have to say since I am exhausted and I'm about to hit the hay. I hope to see you all soon!**


	39. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

**Wow! Almost a month has come and gone since my last update! I'm sorry everyone! I was just so busy and I lost my motivation in writing this chapter and then even when I wasn't busy, I wasn't sleeping well and for some reason, I felt oddly hollowed in the inside. I don't know, it was as if life had become gray for me for a few days. But I'm better now and I thought it was time to finish writing this chapter and post it. This is the last chapter in Formora's arch. There will finally be a time jump and this story can continue onward. Hopefully I would be able to post it soon and not next month. But thank you to everyone who has been waiting patiently for this chapter! R&R everyone!**

Opening the door to Angela's secret room, he coughed when a vicious plume of emerald smoke buffeted him. Covering his mouth, he made sure to close the door behind him as he coughed again, unsure of what exactly Angela was doing. Batting away the clouds of smoke, he moved further into the room and was surprised to see Angela humming to herself as she concocted a strange brew that the smoke was emanating from. Careful not to inhale too much of the smoke, Eragon inched closer to her.

"What is it that you are doing?" asked Eragon, eyes narrowing as the herbalist reached for the table beside her for the withered root that laid atop it. She threw the ingredient into the brew causing it to hiss and bubble.

"Nothing to worry yourself over," said Angela not bothering to glance his way. "What is it that you've come for? I had thought you had a handful of leaders to entertain yourself with. Has the whole Forsworn debacle died down yet?"

"Clearly you do not leave your quarters as much as I had thought," murmured Eragon, taking inventory of the cluttered space that Angela called her home. "As for the answer to your question, I am currently attending to it. Where is the dwarf that I had placed in your custody?"

"Somewhere," said Angela absently. Eragon narrowed his eyes at her. Angela blinked at him, her expression never changing. "He is still alive. There is no need to glare at me especially since I have taken some time out of my day to feed him."

"I never asked you to feed him," said Eragon as he continued to search for the dwarf. "He can survive on nothing but water for a month before his heart gives out."

Angela chuckled and threw him a wry look. "Your line of thinking certainly is novel," she said simply as she moved about the room, collecting colorful mushrooms and the like. Then she continued amiably. "It is hard to believe that you can be just as gentle as you are vicious."

"And what do you mean by that?" questioned Eragon, momentarily distracted by Angela's strange words.

"While you seem to lack patience for almost everything that does not appeal to you, you seem to never be short with Arya in particular," observed Angela with an all knowing smirk. "Funny that the young elven ambassador is your great weakness."

He did not say anything but merely glared at the witch for stating the obvious. Ever since Angela had learned about Eragon's history, she had been privy of his attitude towards other—particularly Arya. Whenever the two were in company of each other and Eragon was present, the herbalist would go to tedious lengths to rile a response out of Eragon.

_And oftentimes I cannot help but rise to the bait, _thought Eragon somewhat dejected at how short tempered he was. Even after nearly fifty years, he couldn't seem to change that one aspect of himself. Ignoring Angela's words, he began to shift the numerous items in her room about as he searched for the dwarf assassin that he had stowed away in Angela's quarters—the one place that not even Grimstborith Vermûnd would have the courage to infiltrate.

Toeing a stack of leather hides out of the way, he paused at the sight of two feet protruding from underneath a tremendous swath of heavy sable velvet. With a raised brow, he tugged the velvet to the side to reveal the assassin.

"So you are here," murmured Eragon as he stared down at the red faced dwarf that looked more dazed than angered by Eragon's appearance. He waited for the dwarf to say the hurt and insult that he was harboring internally but was mildly shocked when the assassin stayed quiet.

"Angela," he called to her, beckoning her to his side. When she was close enough, he pointed to the dazed and chained dwarf. "Did you do something to him? Why is he not responding to anything I say or do?"

"I drugged him," said Angela simply.

At Eragon's look she said defensively, "What? You expect me to work and research when I have a dwarf screaming obscenities at me? And Solembum?" When Eragon did not respond, she continued, motioning with her hands to try and get her point across. "Heavens forbid, he was close to having his tongue removed had he actually managed to spit on Solembum."

Eragon would not put it past the werecat if he were to do so. He could see himself doing the same if the dwarf were to ever try such with him. "Is he still sane?" asked Eragon as he went and grabbed a nearby sack that was large enough to fill up with a hundred or so potatoes.

"Yes," the way Angela said it made it sound as if she was displeased with the fact. "His mind will return to him once he is given enough time to let the effects of the drug wear away. Another day or so, he'll be back to his hostile self."

"Good," bending down, Eragon picked up the dwarf and unceremoniously placed him in the sack, roughly tying the end. It was sturdy enough to hold the mass of the dwarf but thin enough to allow the air to pass through.

"Are you heading to meet the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin by yourself?" Angela asked, her brows furrowed and her lips thinned.

"I do not see why not," said Eragon, calculating how to take the assassin to Vermûnd. As of currently, all the Grimstboriths were staying in Tronjheim due to clan meetings deliberating over Formora's sudden appearance and what to do in regards to the Forsworn. He stood, slinging the sack over his shoulders. "It is best that I do this. If others are involved it can become more complicated than it already is."

"Be careful of what you are doing, Eragon," warned Angela as he began to make his way towards the door. "You will be making an enemy of Vermûnd and his clan, the moment you show up with the assassin. The Az Sweldn rak Anhûin already have reason to detest you."

"They made an enemy of me the moment they attacked me," said Eragon. _As well as Arya, _he thought to himself feeling the familiar sweep of anger course through his veins. "Besides, I am unafraid of Vermûnd and his clan. I will see to it that they understand the consequences of their actions."

"Very well," she nodded, then a smile lit her features. "Be careful not to wound Vermûnd's pride too much. He is a Grimstborith, after all."

"I shall keep that in consideration," Eragon paused by the door, opening it just slightly to find Veric sitting dutifully outside. He had thought about bringing the White Shrrg with him but it would attract too much attention. And it wasn't as if he didn't already attract enough to begin with. "Veric will stay with you for the meantime."

Telling Veric to go inside, he closed the door behind him before Angela could possibly protest having the white Shrrg wondering about her quarters. _As long as he does not touch anything, he will be fine, _thought Eragon. Shifting the sack on his shoulder, he continued down the hallway towards the heart of Tronjheim where he knew the Grimstboriths of the clans were staying.

The biggest obstacle to overcome was to meet with Vermûnd without attracting too much attention. Not only would the area be highly guarded but if the other Grimstboriths were to see him then it could cause for suspicion, especially if word were to reach Hrothgar.

_But Vermûnd will no doubt wish to avoid such if he wants to prevent King Evandar from finding out that he had ordered an attempt on Arya's life, _contemplated Eragon. He felt a slight twinge of guilt towards the elven king. He knew that he shouldn't be keeping silent about the attempt on Arya's life but he could not bring himself to go against Arya's wishes. And even then, he had to think about the state of the Varden first and foremost. He could not have the elves and the dwarves turn against one another. There was still an underlying animosity between the races and this would merely add to it.

Moving to the shadows as a group of dwarf guards passed him by, Eragon frowned. He could try to alter his appearance but he wasn't sure if that would prompt more suspicion or not. If he saw a strange man holding large sack over his shoulders, he would certainly stop to question him. It was best to remain as he was.

When the group of guards had passed, he stepped out from the shadows and continued towards the white marble city being careful to avoid the populated area where most of the Varden and dwarves were going about their daily lives. Instead, he stayed close to the walls and the shadows they offered. The closer he came to the living quarters of the Grimstboriths, the more guards he had to avoid.

Entering the large doors that led closer to the heart of Tronjheim and the throne of King Hrothgar, Eragon easily dodged by another group of guards by taking an alternative route about only to be faced with another difficult obstacle. Coming upon the corridor where The Grimstborith were staying, he frowned at the sight of the guards stationed nearby. What could he do? He could possibly distract them by creating a diversion but he doubted that all the guards would go running for the source of the disturbance. The frontal approach wasn't feasible.

As he was devising different strategies as to how to approach Vermûnd, the solution presented itself in the form of Vermûnd's advisor. He had seen the dwarf before but did not care much for his name. Watching the man walk towards Vermûnd's quarters, Eragon hurriedly whispered a few chosen words in the ancient language underneath his breath. The feeling of being bind by a wrap registered and when he stepped out of the shadows, he could barely see his dim shadow in the glow of the lanterns which were far and few in between as they lined the corridor. It was easy to make himself invisible but difficult to erase his shadow.

Walking up to the advisor, he made sure to align his shadow with the dwarf's. He would have to see if they had placed any magical wards on the doorway to the quarters of Vermûnd's but if his assumption was correct, Eragon believed that Vermûnd thought himself untouchable seeing as he was in Tronjheim and if anything were to happen to him, it would reflect poorly on King Hrothgar as well as the other Grimstboriths.

If there was one thing that Vermûnd did exceedingly well, it was protecting his own hide.

When the door opened, Eragon took a deep and silent breath as he followed quickly behind the advisor, slightly surprised when he made it past the threshold without being discovered. Vermûnd seemed confident that nothing would become of him if he stayed within Tronjheim. If only he knew that Eragon did not necessarily hold the same beliefs that Arya did.

Moving to a corner of the spacious chamber, his eyes darted about the room only to land on Vermûnd, who was reclining in one the luxurious couches that decorated the living room. His advisor began to speak in the gruff dwarf tongue, all of which Eragon could not make out. Despite the many years he'd been living in Tronjheim, he never once made to learn the language of the dwarves.

But from what he could tell of Vermûnd's expression and his relaxed position, the dwarf was not the least bit bothered. When the advisor left, Eragon took his chance. Releasing his spell, he quietly stepped out from the shadows, saying conversationally, "You look rather relaxed despite the storm that you are brewing in the heart of Farthen Dûr, Grimstborith Vermûnd."

Immediately, the clan chief stood to his feet, his hand moving towards the purple silk of his clothing as if to grab a hidden weapon. Eragon merely raised a brow as Vermûnd turned to him, his eyes widening. "There is no need," said Eragon as he moved forward, adjusting the sack that hid the assassin on his shoulder. "I am not here to attack you. I merely wished to speak without others witnessing our meeting."

"How did you make it past my guards?" asked Vermûnd, his eyes furious and his expression showing that he had every intention of calling the guards if Eragon so much as breathed wrong.

"I apologize," said Eragon, his tone lacking any sort of sincerity. He took a seat on one of the couch across from the one Vermûnd had recently been sitting in. When the dwarf made no move to sit, Eragon motioned for him to do so. He didn't want Vermûnd to feel uncomfortable in his own quarters. "We have much to talk about Grimstborith Vermûnd."

"I see no reason to spare my time with someone that cowardly snuck into my quarters and finds that he can do as he pleases," said Vermûnd, his face steadily growing redder, making his skin look out of place against the violet of his outfit.

"Cowardly?" repeated Eragon as if the word held no meaning to him. He pinned Vermûnd with a dark stare. "And your actions were not cowardly? I find it more cowardly to send an assassin to gain leverage in politics. Do you not?"

"What are you talking about?" asked Vermûnd with narrowed eyes, his voice sounding strained. He pointed a finger at Eragon. "You do not have any evidence to such accusations!"

Without another word, Eragon reached over and untied the sack, letting the cloth fall away to reveal the dazed assassin, who didn't so much as blink in the face of the seething Vermûnd. Instantly the clan chief's expression became sour. No words escaped Vermûnd and Eragon watched as his eyes darted from where Eragon sat on the couch and towards the door as if bidding to see if he could call his guards without arousing suspicion.

"For a clan chief your decisions are not very intelligent ones," said Eragon conversationally as he motioned for Vermûnd to retake his seat. Vermûnd glared at him but seeing as Eragon had backed him into a corner, he slowly sat down, his eyes never leaving Eragon and his hand never straying from the inside of his violet clothing.

_If Vermûnd pulls a weapon on me, I will have no choice but to fight him, _thought Eragon in displeasure. But that would only be as a last resort. He just had to scare Vermûnd enough to ensure that the dwarf would remain quiet on the matter of Formora.

"It was lucky that I was with Arya at the time when your assassin decided to act," said Eragon with narrowed eyes. "And from what I gathered it was not his first attempt on Arya's life. You must believe your cause so high that you would dare to make an attempt on the elven ambassador's life, even with King Evandar present in Farthen Dûr."

"He is not from my clan," said Vermûnd, his voice hard. His eyes darted to the assassin and back to Eragon, betraying nothing but his current anger. "You have nerve, elf, to force one of my kind into such a state and say such accusations."

"Do not take me for a fool, Vermûnd," said Eragon, deciding to do away with civility. "I probed his mind and found that he took direct orders from you. You were clever in trying to wipe away any remnant of yourself in his memories but you were not thorough enough. I am certain that several of King Evandar's spellcasters can confirm for everyone that I am not mistaken in pinning the blame on you for it is rightfully yours."

Vermûnd did not respond to him for a few minutes and when he next spoke, Eragon inwardly felt like smiling. "What do you want?"

"Simple," said Eragon. "I want you to stop your protests to execute Formora."

The moment the words left his lips, Vermûnd immediately shot to his feet, glaring at Eragon with such hatred that he was surprised that he could not feel the keen pain from the dwarf's heated gaze. "You expect me to turn my back on my clan? You expect me to let the foul Forsworn walk freely in mine kind's halls? After the grief they brought to Anhûin? Never!"

"I do not believe it is a choice anymore," said Eragon calmly. "You brought this upon yourself, Vermûnd."

"You believe the life of one elven ambassador is enough to sway Evandar against the dwarves? It would take more than the death of one of his people to rally his army," snarled Vermûnd, a victorious gleam in his eyes. "Even if you were to bring this news to Evandar, he will merely ignore it in favor of peace across our alliance!"

At this Eragon wanted to laugh at him. Vermûnd couldn't have been more wrong. "That is where you are wrong, Vermûnd," said Eragon, his lips curling into a mocking smile. He enjoyed this much more than he should. Thinking back to a different time when Vermûnd had tried to assassinate Murtagh, Eragon felt his resolve harden. "Arya is more to King Evandar than just a mere ambassador. Arya Dröttningu, is the sole heir to the knotted throne of Ellesméra."

Vermûnd's flummoxed expression gave Eragon a great deal of satisfaction. Eragon motioned to the assassin with a nod of his head. "Had he been successful in killing King Evandar's daughter—the princess of the elves, you would have had a war on your hands. Fortune was with you seeing as Arya has escaped harm…what do you have to say for yourself, Vermûnd?"

His mouth working furiously but not a sound leaving him, Vermûnd looked akin to a fish out of water. It was as if he couldn't grasp the fact that he had ordered for Arya, the princess of elves, to be killed. If word were to ever reach King Hrothgar, no less King Evandar, Vermûnd would be hard pressed to save himself from the repercussions of his actions.

"How do I know you are not lying to me?" said Vermûnd eventually, refusing to give into the knowledge that Eragon held a firm threat over his head.

Eragon shrugged, his eyes darting to the dazed assassin. "Believe what you want to believe. But I will let you know this Vermûnd, if you do not cease badgering the Varden and King Hrothgar about Formora being handed over to the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin for judgment, I will make certain that word of Arya's escape from death reaches King Evandar's ears and then you will have to answer not only to the King of Elves, but to your own king as well as your clan for brining such shame upon yourselves."

"I see, you have come here to threaten me," said Vermûnd, gazing at Eragon with a tight expression. "You expect me to bow my head to you because of a mere skirmish?"

"Threatening you?" Eragon let the thought pass unchallenged before he nodded. "I suppose that I am. As for bowing your head to me? No, I do not expect you to do such a thing. I merely expect for you to leave the issue of Formora alone. You and your clan have caused for enough headaches in the deliberations."

"So you are protecting her! A Forsworn, no less! Have you forgotten what they have done to us? They destroyed an entire Order, spilt my clan's blood, and gave Alagaësia to the blasted Dragon Rider, Galbatorix! She is as much my enemy as yours and yet here you sit, threatening me to free her from her just punishment! You are no less traitor than she is if you want to cover for her!" spat Vermûnd.

Eragon felt his blood boil with Vermûnd's accusations but he kept himself from responding or reacting violently to his words. If he showed contempt, then he would just be showing weakness. Masking his expression, he steadied a long look at Vermûnd before saying slowly as if he were speaking to some one of significantly lower intelligence, "Formora is useful to our cause against Galbatorix and she has shown that she does not intend to do any harm to the Varden nor our allies. That is all I need to know. As for what she has done in the past—that is for someone else other than you to judge. You are not her kind nor her king."

"You—"

"Now I will ask you once more, Vermûnd," said Eragon steadily as he stood to his feet, towering over the dwarf due to his height and stature. "Will you stop your protests already? Or shall I have to force you to contend with the force of the elves in order for you to keep your violence to yourself?"

Vermûnd was shaking as he glared at Eragon but he did not refute his words nor argue. After a long and tense silence, the clan chief nodded his head, saying in a low undertone. "You will regret this, elf. You have chosen the wrong clan to make enemies of."

Deciding not to respond to him. Eragon nodded. He had said enough. Motioning to the dazed assassin, he said to Vermûnd as he turned to leave, "You can have your assassin back. However, if I see him anywhere near Arya, I shall dispose of him…I expect to hear favorable news from King Hrothgar at the next council."

With that said, Eragon once more made himself invisible and with Vermûnd's begrudging call to his guards, he easily slipped out of the quarters as the guards hurried into the room and began to make his way back to Angela's secret room. He had played his piece. Now all he had to do was wait for Vermûnd to settle the matter with King Hrothgar and afterwards, the entire matter of Formora would be finished.

Three days following his meeting with Vermûnd, Eragon found himself walking with Veric trailing behind him towards the conference room where the leaders would convene and discuss as a whole what it as they would do regarding Formora. Approaching the door to the conference, Eragon could not help but inwardly scoff at the sight of a handful of guards stationed about the hallway. Yaela and Blödhgarm stood guard at the door beside the regular guards that guarded Deynor and he spotted a group of dwarves stationed at both ends of the hallway.

_They are attracting more attention by milling about such an area, _thought Eragon as he nodded to the guards at the door, his eyes connecting with Blödhgarm's momentarily. The elf merely regarded him silently with his amber eyes.

Entering the room, Eragon held the door to allow Veric to cross the threshold before he closed it once more.

"Ah, Eragon," Deynor, who sat at the head of the table nodded to him, gesturing to the seat on his left. "We were waiting for you before we began."

"I apologize for the lateness of my arrival," said Eragon with a slight bow of his head as he made his way towards the seat Deynor indicated. He took his seat with Veric curling up beside him, opening his mouth in a yawn, showing sharp teeth that could tear a person from limb to limb without much effort.

Letting his eyes travel about the table, Eragon nodded in respect to King Evandar and Hrothgar before his eyes landed on Arya, who sat beside her father. She was tensed and her emerald eyes were hard as if she were expecting the worst to come from the meeting. When she made eye contact with him, Eragon raised his brow slightly, silently asking her what it was that was bothering her.

She pursed her lips slightly. Trying to reassure her as best as he could, he smiled faintly at her before turning his attention back to Deynor. "I apologize for constantly calling all of you here day after day, but the situation currently has not been easy for the Varden."

"It is of little concern," said Evandar, his expression stern but his voice portraying his authority as King of the Elves. "This is a delicate matter and as such must be approached with great care. I speak for myself when I say this, but I had not been expecting such an occurrence and have been taken aback myself."

"Aye," agreed Hrothgar looking rather tired from where he sat beside his adopted son, Orik.

"What then shall we do with Formora?" asked Eragon, getting to the heart of the matter. His eyes turned to Deynor. The leader of the Varden, reached up to rub his face but there was a determined gleam in his eyes that Eragon took for his resolve.

"Before I speak about the Varden's intentions, may I hear as to what the two of you intend, King Evandar, King Hrothgar, in regards to Formora?" asked Deynor.

King Evandar folded his hands neatly atop one another, his eyes darting from face to face before they returned to Deynor. "I have spoken with Formora, myself, and though I wish to see her brought to justice from what she has done in the past, Formora serves more uses to us alive. I am willing to set aside her past transgressions to deal with at a later point in time. Our enemy first and foremost is Galbatorix and as the saying goes, an enemy of an enemy is indeed a friend. If we are careful, Formora can serve for the greater good of the Varden."

"I understand," Deynor nodded, the fingers of his right hand softly drumming against the marble table. He turned to King Hrothgar. "King Hrothgar, may we have your thoughts on this matter?"

"The clans and I have tarried long over a decision with regards to the Forsworn," began King Hrothgar in his gruff voice. "It is unknown of to have a Forsworn walk our halls since after the Fall of the Riders and with the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin's hatred for them. Grimstborith Vermûnd and his clan have been actively calling for Formora's execution. Some of the other clans agreed with him while others agreed with King Evandar's thoughts."

"Has there been no compromise as of yet?" asked Eragon, his voice strong and piercing in the circular chamber. Veric let out a huff of breath and shifted where he laid curled next to Eragon.

King Hrothgar's eyes darted to Eragon, "It is uncommon to have all the clan chiefs present in Tronjheim and you understand as well as I do, Eragon, that when mine people counsel, we do so for an arduous length of time. However, seeing the state of affairs of the Varden we were forced to hurry our ways. Haste causes for frustration and frustration often leads to stagnation."

"Meaning that you are still at odds?" Eragon frowned. Had Vermûnd not listened to him? Did the dwarf still want to insist on publically executing Formora? Trying to think of other possible reasons as to why there was no progress, he paused when King Hrothgar spoke once more.

"However, in our last meeting, Vermûnd has expressed that he will cease to call for Formora's execution," Arya's eyes darted to his in surprise and he could see the questioning in them. With a slight tilt of his head, he nonverbally answered her. Worry flashed through her eyes but it was gone when Hrothgar continued. "It was a shock to hear but he said that the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin would not concern themselves with the Forsworn. With his voice at the forefront of those wishing for Formora's death gone, the other clan chiefs had no choice but to cease as well. With the call for her blood gone, I was able to speak to them about the possibilities of Formora aligning herself with our cause. It is hard to believe, but Formora—as King Evandar said—has more purpose to us alive. Galbatorix will never suspect that one of his Forsworn has turned against him."

Deynor nodded, looking satisfied with what he heard from Evandar and Hrothgar. Then to Eragon's surprise, his eyes darted to him. "And what of you, Eragon? You are not a leader but you were once a part of the Order of Riders. It will be insult to injury if we let Formora's sins go unchallenged."

"Concessions must be made in war," said Eragon simply.

"I see," murmured Deynor, his eyes traveling to the marble table. He was quiet for a long moment, allowing them to sit in silence before he revealed his own thoughts about Formora. Then after a long moment, he spoke. "Formora is a traitor, yes. She had aligned herself with Galbatorix and was part of bringing Alagaësia to the state it is currently. There is no doubt that she bears tremendous fault to those who have suffered underneath Galbatorix. Executing her would be just."

No one spoke as Deynor's voice grew stronger and more determined. "However, it is as King Evandar and King Hrothgar has said. We cannot ignore her usefulness. Traitor or not, she can give us an advantage when fighting Galbatorix and his remaining Forsworn. The only obstacle left is if we can control a force such as Formora. She has proven time and again that her character is one of tenacity. If she were to feel the need to betray us, she would do so. That type of person, I have difficulty in allowing to walk freely amongst the Varden."

"I shall take responsibility of Formora," said Eragon drawing everyone's attention to him. "I shall watch after Formora and her actions and make certain that they do not impact the Varden in any way, shape, or form. You have my word, Deynor."

"She was able to defy the Order of Riders and Galbatorix," said Deynor shaking his head. "You are strong, Eragon, but they were and are much stronger than you. As capable as you are Eragon, Formora is unpredictable, which makes her dangerous."

"Not as long as I know her true name," said Eragon, stunning everyone into silence. He felt Arya's eyes on him but his gaze never wavered from Deynor. When Deynor was younger, he did not understand anything about magic but the moment he became the leader of the Varden, Eragon had several members of the Du Gata Vrangr teach him the basics of magic and the ancient language so that he did not appear ignorant to its nature.

"And you will not tell us her true name?" asked Orik looking irritated.

"No," said Eragon with a hard frown. "Knowing another's true name gives one great power over that person. It is not knowledge that should be shared lightly and even if Formora is one of the Forsworn, I will not speak of her name to anyone else without her permission."

Orik merely grumbled underneath his breath but Eragon chose to ignore him. He had an inkling that someone would ask to know Formora's true name but just as he'd promised the Forsworn, he would protect her name so long as it was hers.

"Is that enough for you to gamble on, Deynor?" asked Eragon quietly. If Deynor trusted him wholly, he would agree and if he didn't…Well, by then Eragon wouldn't know what to do next.

The leader of the Varden gazed at him for a long and hard moment before he released a breath, a half smile inching its way across his features. "You always have a solution to the obstacles that we face," said Deynor with a nod. "Very well, then. Eragon, you are responsible for Formora and her actions as well as the actions of her dragon. I want your word that if we need assistance from Formora that she will give it and that she will not betray nor do any harm to the Varden."

"I give you my word," said Eragon without missing a beat. "I shall take responsibility of Formora so long as she is part of the Varden."

"Then it is decided," said Deynor with a clap of his hands. "Formora shall not be executed but become a part of our forces. I shall send for the council of Elders and speak to them and a public announcement shall be given to the whole of the Varden. King Hrothgar, King Evandar, if you would not mind staying for the meeting…"

_The worst is over for the meantime, _thought Eragon releasing a breath of relief that he did not know he was holding. He smiled slightly as he thought of Formora's reaction to the news that she was free from judgment for the moment. Sitting back in his seat, he absently patted Veric's head as he thought of how the Varden was going to change upon hearing word that Formora was not going to be put to death. There was going to be protest but he hoped that the greater part of the Varden understood the necessity of the situation.

Just as he was mulling over his thoughts, his eyes landed on Arya once more and he felt his heart constrict at the gaze that she was sending his way. Her lips were pursed and her eyes were furrowed as if she was distinctly bothered by something he had done or said. She blinked at him and then turned her head to break eye contact with Eragon and instead focus her attention on Deynor as he spoke.

Mildly surprised by her reaction, Eragon also returned his attention to the leader of the Varden but found himself having a difficult time concentrating due to Arya's behavior towards him. It appeared as if one obstacle was solved only to have another spring forth in its place.

_And it will only get more complicated from here on out, _thought Eragon grimly. Yet all he could do was face it head on when it came, just as he had been doing from the very moment he appeared in the past.

His eyes darted back to Arya.

_Just a little longer…_

**It's funny, after I finished playing FFXIII: Lightning Returns, FFX Remastered came out and I had to buy that one! Now I'm gaming to my favorite game of all time on PS3! Yay! And my favorite girl group made their comeback a few weeks back! Has anyone seen Girls Generation(SNSD) Mr. Mr. if you did, good for you! If you liked it, even better! Now back to this chapter, I am so glad to be done with Formora's arch. And for those who might have wanted to see more, I apologize but this is it for this arch. The next chapter following is the time jump and hopefully I can get working on that soon but I'm going to be very busy once again this upcoming month and such. Hopefully, I won't be too busy as to not be able to update. So stay tuned everyone! I hope to see you all soon!**


	40. Chapter 39

**Chapter 39**

**This is where I apologize profusely in numerous words about the one month wait! But I'll put it all into one line: I'm so sorry! Honestly, this last month has been rather hectic. I made the mistake of starting a vicious cycle of sleeping late and then trying to make up for that sleep later in the day and not having anything done in the meantime. I've been so busy! But that seems like a lame excuse. Anyways, like I promised, I have done a time jump and it might seem confusing at first but I'll explain it in the next series of chapters. Since you've all been waiting quite a long time for this chapter, go ahead reading! R&R!**

In his other life, if one were to tell him that he would become close friends with a Forsworn he would have questioned their sanity. But looking back on the fifteen years that he and Formora had spent side by side, he could not describe his relationship to Formora as anything but a deep comradeship. He could remember the expression on Formora's face when he'd delivered the news that she was free as well as what she did afterwards which to this day, he'd never really understood.

"_Is it alright for you to leave the meeting?" asked Eragon, wondering if Arya's presence was not deemed important elsewhere. He was certain that she would rather be beside her father than possibly at the end of Formora's taunts. He turned his head towards her, waiting for an answer._

"_If it was important, King Evandar would have asked that I had stayed," said Arya in a low voice, her eyes looking far away. The way she spoke made him pause, turning to her. Had she not resolved whatever it was that was going on between her and her father? At his silence, Arya smiled softly at him. "It is nothing to worry over. It will come to pass."_

_Feeling odd at having her wave away his concerns, he uncertainly nodded and the two of them continued in silence towards the chamber where Formora and her dragon were waiting. Nodding to the guards that stood on either side of the door, he knocked before entering not bothering to wait for an answer._

"_Why knock if you do not plan on waiting for a reply?" asked an irritated Forsworn as Eragon entered with Arya following behind him, the door closing after she stepped past the threshold into the chamber. Formora was standing in the middle of the circular room, looking as if she'd been pacing back and forth. On the far wall, her brown dragon was curled up._

"_No need to look so irritated," said Eragon as he lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug. He was here to bring good news in any case. He eyed Formora for a long moment and it was then that he realized that the elf before him was going to be under his constant watch. His lips twitched. It was going to be more difficult hiding who he really was when Formora was going to be constantly by his side._

"_I should tell you the same," said Formora, observing his expression closely. Quick to reign in his emotions, Eragon shook his head._

"_Sorry," he made a slight gesture with his hand to show her that it was nothing important. "My mind was elsewhere."_

_Formora's eyes narrowed slightly. They flickered to Arya, who stood behind Eragon, and then back to him. "Have your leaders made a decision?" asked Formora with a raised brow, her expression telling him that she was expecting the worst._

"_They have," said Eragon, catching sight of Veric rubbing his head against Arya's leg. A pang of envy coursed through him to which Eragon immediately staunched. _Fortunate Shrrg, _thought Eragon amused at his own thoughts. He turned his attention back to Formora. "Deynor has placed you under my care. It would seem that the leaders believe your life is more valuable to them than your death."_

_Her reaction stunned him._

_One moment, Formora was pinning him with a hard stare as if awaiting for him to deliver horrible news. The next moment, her blue eyes were wide with disbelief and the surprise on her face was enough to give him pause. It was unlike Formora to be caught off guard._

_Unable to let the moment pass, he smirked. "Did you doubt my abilities?"_

_Formora's eyes returned to him and he was glad to see the familiar gleam in them. She was going to be fine. A smirk of her own traversed her face as she turned to him, slowly approaching him as if she were a predator and he was her prey._

"_I had my doubts," said Formora, causing Eragon to frown slightly. She did? He opened his mouth to say a few disgruntled words but was immediately silenced when Formora reached out to wrap a hand around his neck and jerk his head forward to press her lips against his._

_Momentarily surprised, he stood there. It wasn't until he heard the sound of the door closing did he snap back to his senses. Pulling away from Formora, he turned to find the spot that Arya stood in vacated. Instead, Veric stared up at him with his amber eyes as if silently asking Eragon what had happened._

_Too stunned to do anything, he stood there with his eyes trained on the door._

It still irked him why Formora had suddenly did that but he had just let the action passed. After all, it wasn't as if that was the first time she'd done such to him. And he had figured he would let her have her moment seeing as she didn't have to worry about Evandar, Hrothgar, or Deynor wanting justice. What he didn't expect was how Arya seemed to distance herself from him slightly, especially in Formora's presence.

His hands tightened on the parchment he was holding as he thought of his interactions with Arya over the last fifteen years. He had expected it to change since he knew that Arya was still young and trying to accommodate the changes time brought. However, he hadn't expected their relationship to change as well. She still came to him for help and she still spoke with him as she had before the incident with Formora…Yet at times, he would catch herself withdrawing from his help as if she was hesitant or as if she was troubled by something.

He wanted to ask her what it was that was bothering her but with Formora always about, the chance never came. A day turned into a week, a week in a month, a month in a year, and so forth. Laying the report down on his desk, he sighed. His eyes darted to the spot where Veric would usually be occupying by his desk but the white Shrrg was nowhere to be seen.

_He is with Arya, _Eragon remembered. He leaned back in his armchair, glaring at the spot as if it'd offended him. Veric had been dutifully following Eragon for years on end and seeing that, Formora had taken it about herself to give the Shrrg a gift of long life so that Veric would not be constrained by the passage of time. He was thankful to Formora seeing as he considered Veric a close companion. Now, the Shrrg was able to enjoy following his master much longer.

_If he bothered to stay with me, _Eragon thought darkly, his mood progressively getting worse. Though the white Shrrg followed Eragon about oftentimes, lately Veric had been following behind Arya and was greatly affectionate towards the elven ambassador. He grumbled as he glared at his report. It was petty but he could not help but feel envious whenever he saw Arya fondly scratching Veric behind the ears or softly kissing the white Shrrg on his head. _Traitorous Shrrg, _thought Eragon as he envisioned Veric curled up in Arya's quarters.

Arya had returned to Ellesméra for the coming of spring and Veric had whined constantly until Eragon had agreed to let the Shrrg leave with the elven princess. He sighed as he reached up with a hand to rub his face, feeling tired. It wasn't so much the fact that Veric seemed to be favoring Arya over Eragon lately, it was more of the fact that with each time Arya returned to the Varden from her travels to Ellesméra, she seemed more eager for the next time she would travel back to her home.

_Could it be because of Fäolin?_

A grimace made its way onto Eragon's features. Due to his responsibility when it came to Formora, he was unable to return to Ellesméra for he was certain that without him at the Varden, the others would become restless with the mere thought of Formora and her dragon wandering about the halls of Farthen Dûr without someone to watch over their actions. He had to content himself with sending missives to King Evandar whenever he had to pass on information to him.

Letting out another sigh, he reached forward for the mug that sat on the corner of his desk which was not occupied with texts or reports. The tea had long since cooled and was lukewarm as he drank it. Formora had in good conscious brought him tea earlier that afternoon before going off to do something for Deynor. He stared at the tea feeling rather odd. He and Formora had certainly come a long ways since what had happened fifteen years ago. She was still arrogant, aloof, and cold but there was a softness to her that he hadn't realized existed until she had told him her true name.

He drank the rest of the tea, savoring the sweet taste.

Return his eyes to the report, he tried to focus but found his mind wandering back to Arya once more. He missed her. Not just the one here but the Arya that had loved him in the other Alagaësia. It had been nearly three quarters of a century since they had been separated by life, death, and time. Oftentimes, when he was alone, his mind began to wander back to the handful of days he and Arya had together.

"I have never seen you with such a tender look on your face before."

Instantly wiping such a look off of his face, he glanced up to find Angela standing in the doorway of his study, evaluating him with a contemplative look. Since when had she barged in? More importantly, didn't he have wards to prevent her for inviting herself into his quarters?

"How did you get in?" asked Eragon suspiciously as he glared at the witch.

"Through the front door," said Angela as she walked further into his study glancing at the mess atop his desk and the many tomes and texts that were stacked against the wall since there was no more room on his bookshelves to house them all. "How else would I have entered?"

"You know what I meant," said Eragon not bothering to play the roundabout game of questions with Angela at the moment. He felt rather melancholic and uninterested in the events about him. He did not need to add irritation to misery. As if catching onto his mood, Angela's stare became somewhat sympathetic.

"If you stared at that report on your table any harder, it might burst into flames," the witch observed. Eragon glanced up at her and then back at his report. After a long moment, he set the piece of parchment aside and instead let his eyes land on the glass orb that stood on the other corner of his desk. Staring at the white rose encased in the glass, he tried hard not to think about Arya but it only served to strengthen his ardent longing for her.

"Is it Formora?" Angela asked cautiously when Eragon made no move to speak.

"No," he eyed Angela. "Formora is not always the cause of my problems. In any case, she has been rather helpful lately with her killing the other Forsworn and such."

Ever since Formora's betrayal, Galbatorix had been unforgiving and the Forsworn as well as a few assassins had been out to seek her blood. However, between Eragon, Formora, and Brom, none of them stood a chance. At the thought of his father, his brows furrowed. He remembered vividly how frustrated Brom had been when he had learned word of Formora and her dragon serving the Varden and how she was under Eragon's protection. The two of them had argued at lengths about it.

"_You would shelter a Forsworn? Your enemy? Need I remind you who it was that led us to this point?" asked Brom, furious._

"_Formora has changed," said Eragon, not knowing how else to put it._

_If anything, that seemed to make Brom angrier. "Changed!" He practically spat the words from between his clenched teeth, a vein prominent on his forehead. "People do not change so simply! Especially not someone like Formora!"_

_He stared at his father, wondering how it was that Brom came to love Selena. His mother was the Black Hand that had served Morzan and he knew that her history was just as dark and ominous as that of a Forsworn if compared._

"_There will come a time when you will meet someone who does things for all the wrong reasons," began Eragon quietly, "But they will change once you give them reason to."_

"In any case, Formora is running an errand for Deynor at the moment," said Eragon as he focused his attention on Angela, suddenly curious as to why she had sought him out. With Angela, it was usually Eragon who came to see her, never the other way around. And if it was, it was rare. "Is something amiss?"

"You can say so," said Angela with a slight frown.

Raising a brow, Eragon stared at Angela with hard eyes. "What is it?"

Her lips thinned and then with a rather guarded expression she said slowly, "There are two men wishing to join the Varden. Rosalie has met with them but she finds something odd about them and had asked that I come fetch you."

Two men? Instantly, Eragon felt his mind sharpen and his earlier melancholy pushed to the wayside. Jaws clenched, he thought about the only two men that could possibly cause Rosalie to hesitate when admitting those wishing to join the Varden. "Are they twins?" asked Eragon.

Angela stared at him impressed. "I forget that you are more than what you claim to be. To answer your question, yes, they are twins. Magicians, or so they claim."

Nodding, Eragon stood to his feet ignoring the papers that fluttered to the ground due to his sudden movement. Moving about his desk, he made to exit his quarters with Angela following behind him. "Where are they?" asked Eragon as he practically threw open his door with more force than necessary.

"Waiting at the east gate," said Angela as she hurried along behind him, easily keeping pace with his long strides. "I take it that you know the two of them."

"I do," said Eragon in a low voice. His eyes darted about. He did not want any prying ears to hear what it was that he had to say. His frown deepened slightly as he thought about what he had just say. "I did know them or rather I will."

"I take it that they were not the decent type," Angela murmured back as the two of them hurried down the hall. Eragon did not want to risk anything. He did not want the Twins to do anything that could potentially harm the Varden. Belatedly, the memory of learning that it was the Twins, who had fed Durza and Galbatorix information about Arya's whereabouts leading to her capture, the deaths of Glenwing and Fäolin, and her torture struck him.

Abruptly, Eragon found himself stopping mid step as his thoughts penetrated his mind clearly. If he killed the Twins, he was effectively saving Arya from the loss of her friends and preventing her from enduring torture underneath Durza. His mind flashed to Fäolin.

_Stop it, _Eragon angrily told himself as he perished the thought. He couldn't afford to be petty now. That wasn't in his character.

"What is it?" asked Angela, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Has something happened?"

He shook his head. "No…I was just distracted," he resumed walking. "I was not myself for the moment."

He couldn't think like that. It was petty and pathetic. He couldn't lose his calm nor his head when it came to topics that pertained to Arya and Fäolin. Most importantly, he did not want Angela to see him so indecisive and weak minded. It was shameful.

"You appear rather agitated," observed Angela quietly as they turned a corner.

His brow twitched and he clenched his jaw. Then with great difficulty, he tried to calm himself but between thinking of the wretched Twins and the possibilities of Arya and Fäolin together, it was proving to be difficult. _Calm your mind, calm your mind, _he mentally repeated to himself.

As they turned another corner, Eragon was about to continue moving but stopped when he caught sight of Veric bounding towards him. It took Eragon a moment to register that his Shrrg was bounding towards him as if excited to see him. Then it took Eragon another moment to realize what it meant to have Veric back at the Varden.

He heard Angela grumble apologetically behind him but he did not hear her. Instead time seemed to stand still as he lifted his head to take in the sight before him. Standing nearly fifteen yards away from him was Arya. But she was not alone. His throat constricted and it felt as if his heart was being pulled out of his chest as he took in the sight of the two elves behind her. They stood both proud and tall.

The elf that stood on Arya's right, Eragon assumed to be Glenwing. Like all elves, he had pointed ears and elegantly slanted eyebrows. His build was slim but strong, like a rapier. A powerful bow was slung on his back. A sword pressed against his side opposite a quiver of arrows fletched with swan feathers. Brows furrowed, he chanced a glance to the person who stood on Arya's left and was disheartened to find that it was Fäolin.

Unlike the times in which Eragon had caught glimpse of the elf in Ellesméra, he had forgone his casual attire for something else entirely. He wore clothing that were fit for a warrior and he was armed as such. He carried a long spear in his right hand and a white dagger at his belt. A helm of extraordinary craftsmanship, wrought with amber and gold, rested on his head.

Eragon turned his head to pin Angela with a hard stare. The witch had the decency to look apologetic.

"It slipped my mind," she murmured to him as Eragon fought to control his emotions. He had been expecting this. He shouldn't let it get the best of him. But somewhere deep inside him, he wanted to rage at the turn of events. Taking a deep breath, he faced forward and continued onwards. He was careful to keep a good deal of distance between himself and Arya as to avoid any sort of confrontation and he point blank refused to look at her.

If he did, she would only be faced with his hurt. She wouldn't be able to understand and that made matters all the more worse.

When they passed each other, Eragon felt Angela jab him in the back as if questioning why he was acting the way he was. He refused to acknowledge her and continued on his way, steadfast in keeping his eyes forward. It was irrational and he knew that his actions were only going to confuse Arya but he couldn't help it.

His instincts told him to turn back and apologize and greet Arya properly but his stubbornness won over. He continued walking with Angela following behind him and Veric trailing behind the two of them, keening every once and a while as if not understanding why it was that Eragon was acting the way he was—especially towards Arya of all people.

"What has gotten a hold of you to make you act such a way?" asked Angela when Eragon had finally paused in his rapid walking in order to lengthen the distance between him and Arya. He took in a deep breath, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. That was foolish of him. He acted on emotions but that was the only way he could think of to escape such an uncomfortable situation.

_But she lives across the hall from you, _a small voice in his head told him. At this sudden realization, he nearly groaned. What was he going to do now? Perhaps if he slept in, he could avoid Arya since she always left at the crack of dawn for her duties. That seemed to be a reasonable solution. Then again, Deynor was getting old and he needed Eragon's presence to accomplish the important tasks in the Varden.

A sharp jab to his side brought him out of his thoughts. He turned to Angela with a dark glare. "What?" snapped Eragon, wishing she would stop prodding him.

Angela's returning stare halted him from saying or doing anything else offensive. Taking a deep breath, he released it before saying in a low tone, "I apologize. I had not meant to act that way towards you, Angela."

The herbalist pinned him with a hard stare for a while before she eventually shook her head, eyeing him in what appeared to be understanding. "I do not know what it is that is bothering you but it seems as if it is taking quite a toll on you. In all of the years that I have known you, I have never seen you so shaken nor in such a dark mood."

"It is nothing," _at least not at the moment, _Eragon mentally added as the two of them stood there, Veric sitting at their feet, his large tail swinging back and forth. He tried to backtrack his thoughts and get himself in line. They had to deal with the Twins and not his emotional outbursts at the moment. He was acting like a child. Closing his eyes, he mentally counted back from ten.

When he opened it again, he nearly jumped when he found Formora standing before him, a smirk pulling at her lips and her blue eyes sparkling.

"Are you not busy attending to several errands for Deynor?" Eragon barely held back from snapping at her. He did not want to see Formora at the moment. She leaned back, her gaze scrutinizing. Her eyes darted to Angela and the two of them seemed to share a look. Eragon narrowed his eyes at her causing Formora to shrug slightly.

"I finished them early and before you ask about my dragon, he is sleeping up at the dragon hold," said Formora, her gaze touched with slight concern. "I was on my way back to my chambers when I saw you, Angela, and Veric heading in this direction. You seem as if you are harboring your own storm above your head. Has something happened?"

"No," said Eragon shortly refusing to have Formora know of how he had blatantly ignored Arya and her guards. He turned to leave, stopping momentarily to say to Formora, "If you have time to spare, then put it to good use."

Eragon continued on his way and to his slight irritation Formora decided to follow them towards the east gate. In the distance, Eragon could see the heavy gates with a company of soldiers guarding the entrance and exit to Farthen Dûr. At the base of the gates he could see Rosalie standing before two tall, bald men. Seeing the Twins, he felt his clarity return to him. Focusing all of his emotions and energy on the two men not far off in the distance, he ignored the image of Fäolin and the thought of the elf in Farthen Dûr.

"Who are they?" murmured Formora from where she walked easily beside him, keeping pace with his long strides without difficulty.

"People who wish to join the Varden," said Eragon simply as he neared. As if hearing their approach, Rosalie turned her head towards them a smile crossing her troubled expression momentarily. "Or so they say."

"I apologize for calling for you so suddenly," said Rosalie once they reached her. Her emerald eyes darted to the silent twins who were studying Eragon as he was watching them. "However, I did not know how to precede and had thought that you would be the one to turn to in such a situation."

"It is alright, Rosalie," said Eragon, putting the matter to rest. He turned his eyes to the Twins. The moment he took in their expressionless faces, a flare of anger coursed through him. His fists clenched and unclenched. Then he said directly to them, "You wish to join the Varden?"

The Twins glanced at each other and one of them, wearing simple traveler's clothing nodded. "Aye, that is our intent."

_That is our intent, _Eragon fought to mock them as their words rolled over in his mind. Of course that was their intent. He thought about the Twins and was grateful that Deynor did not have to worry about the shortage of magicians since the Du Gata Vrangr was a competent group of spellcasters. He did not have to cater to those like the Twins.

"What are your names?" asked Eragon already knowing the answer.

Again, the Twins exchanged another look. And the same one who answered him before did so once more. "We have none."

Eragon's brow twitched as he studied them. Keeping his expression unreadable, he nodded. "I see, then what it is that you go by if the both of you are nameless?"'

"Whatever it is that we see fit," the first twin answered once more.

"_I do not trust the look in their eyes," _murmured Formora in the ancient language from where she stood close to Eragon's right hand. Eragon keep his expression neutral but he saw one of the twin's eyes—the silent one—flicker to Formora and saw the flash of recognition there. Could they have been sent to assassinate Formora?

"Where are you from?" asked Eragon deciding to wait a few more moments before he did away with the Twins before they had the chance to leech information from the Varden to Galbatorix. Once more, the two men did not give him a straightforward answer. Eragon caught Rosalie's eyes and could tell that she was bothered by the two of them.

"Very well," said Eragon eventually. Questioning the two of them was futile. They refused to give up any information. His gaze darted from one twin to the next. He couldn't outright kill them, it would seem too impulsive and he was positive that Rosalie and Formora would question him. At the thought of the used to be Forsworn, he caught sight of Formora's frown deepening out of the corner of his eyes and an idea hit him. "Formora."

She turned to him, a questioning gaze on her face. "Yes?"

"I know this is unorthodox of me to ask," Eragon began, "however, would you search these men's minds for me?"

Hoping she could gather from his expression why he needed her to be the one to do it, he watched as Formora searched his features for a long moment before nodding. Stepping forward, she approached the Twins and Eragon saw with great satisfaction the sudden nervousness that appeared on the twin's faces. They exchanged glances as Formora came closer to them and Eragon's fingers twitched towards the hilt of Brisingr when he saw one of the two men take a step back as if unable to bear Formora's approach.

"Stay alert," he murmured to Angela and Rosalie as they watched Formora speak to the first twin. Tensed, he kept an eye on their interactions watching as Formora's blue eyes narrowed with focus and her lips curled downwards. He could only assume that she was searching through the first twin's mind. While she searched, she never gave away any indication of what it was that she saw. She remained still and unmoving and only when she spoke to the other twin did she show any appearance of being done.

She repeated the same procedure with the other twin and when she was finally done, Formora returned to them. Though her expression was clear, Eragon could tell that something was bothering her. He knew her long enough to read her demeanor with ease. Catching his questioning look, she stepped closer to him and brought her lips to his ear.

"They are disguising their minds," murmured Formora only low enough for Eragon to hear.

His eyes darted to the Twins and then to the guards that stood before the east gates. Making sure the head guard saw him, Eragon waved his left hand lightly making it seem like a casual gesture. The guard, however, saw it and nodded. He quietly motioned to the rest of the soldiers and they silently slid into place before the gates as if acting like barrier to prevent anyone from leaving. Satisfied, Eragon focused his attention back on Formora.

"What of their minds?"

"Remember when you first met me?" asked Formora. He did. He would never forget that he had met Formora disguised as Elvina when the first assassination attempt of Eragon's life failed. "I had used a method to disguise my thoughts and camouflage them under the guise of Elvina. These two men are doing the same."

"How do you know?" asked Eragon curiously.

"There are traces of underlying memories that they are trying to conceal," breathed Formora. "Only an unskilled magician would leave such. It is simple to look for once you realize that it is there."

Eragon straightened, having heard enough. One day, he would ask for Formora to teach him such a trick. But for now, they had to attend to the Twins. Walking forward towards them, Eragon took a moment to study the two nameless men. They were younger than when he had killed him in his other time—barely men. There was a moment in which he felt a small amount of remorse for the two of them. He wondered if the Twins could try for any sort of redemption just like Formora had. Then again, he didn't want to risk it with the two men who had caused great heartache for the Varden and the elves.

The image of Arya bound to a flogging pole surfaced in his mind. Instantly, his anger returned to him. He wouldn't let that happen. He understood the pain and suffering of torture and he would rather slice off his own hand than let Arya suffer under Durza once more. Back straight and resolve made, Eragon stopped before the two men.

A tense silence loomed over them. He could kill them but then there was Deynor. He also had to think about the leader of the Varden. _Then I shall do away with one, _thought Eragon. But which one? Turning the thought over in his mind, he glance from twin to twin. None was better than the other. Perhaps he would let fate determine which one he did not kill at the moment.

"The Varden is always willing to allow those seeking refuge a place within the halls of Farthen Dûr," said Eragon. There was a flash of satisfaction in the Twins eyes but it was instantly dimmed when Eragon continued speaking. "However, I do not think the Varden will welcome those such as the likes of you two."

Before they could think about fleeing, Eragon was upon them. He grabbed one of the Twins and without any hesitation, brought his right foot forward and slammed it into the back of the man's left knee. Not letting up, he increased the pressure until he heard a loud snap of the bone and a hollow of pain as the twin fell forward. Moving to deal with the other twin, Eragon found himself watching as Formora easily stabbed her blade, _Domia, _through the other twin's knee rendering the man incapable of moving. He collapsed on the ground, clutching at his wound.

"You are welcome," said Formora as Eragon moved to evaluate their situation. Rosalie and Angela had moved forward during the brief fight and were standing over the two men, preventing them from escaping. Veric, teeth bared, was a force to be reckoned with as he glowered at the two.

Eragon spared her a glance and nodded, conveying his silent gratitude to her. Then he turned his attention to the two men, both collapsed on the ground and looking for a means to escape.

"What do you suggest that we do to the two of them?" asked Rosalie, her eyes trained on both of the twins.

"They are spies sent by Galbatorix to infiltrate the Varden," said Eragon crossing his arms across his chest. He eyed them and was pleased to see the terror in their eyes. They were no doubt petrified by fear of their impending doom. "Killing them will be their just punishment."

"Deynor will no doubt like to question them," said Rosalie, biting her lip.

"It does not take two to talk," said Eragon simply as he went to withdraw Vrangr but as he did so, he blinked when a slim hand gripped his wrist and a sharp voice followed.

"Stop, Eragon."

Shocked, Eragon turned his eyes to find Arya standing behind him. Her expression made his heart pound in his chest. Her brows were furrowed and her lips were pursed together as if she could not understand what it was that she was seeing. His eyes momentarily darted to Fäolin and Glenwing and caught the two elves in a protective stance, their weapons ready should anything happen to the ambassador they were guarding.

"What?" asked Eragon as if he hadn't heard her correctly the first time.

Eyes soft, she shook her head. "Do not do this, Eragon. You have them at your mercy that is enough. Deynor and the others will decide over their fate."

He stared at her, uncomprehending that she was defending the Twins. They were the very reason for her pain in the other Alagaësia. Breathing through his nose, his eyes darted to the Twins, both of whom were on the ground, and then back to Arya. Jaws clenched, he opened his mouth to argue with her.

"These two are Galbatorix's men," said Eragon quietly, his fingers twitching towards his sword.

"Still, it is Deynor's right to judge them," said Arya not releasing his wrist.

The two of them stood there, staring at each other. Eragon wanted to rage at her and make her understand that the two men on the ground, if given enough time, would be the cause of her hurt and sorrow in the future. They would be the cause of the loss of her companions. And yet, here she stood, refusing to let him carry out his decision to do away with one of the twins.

The resolve in her emerald eyes made him scowl. Then with more force than necessary, he pulled himself away from her. Refusing to look at the twins, he watched as a frown made its way across Arya's face and confusion flashed in her eyes at his actions.

"Then let Deynor judge them," said Eragon with a tone of finality. Without saying anything else, he turned his back on them and swept away refusing to stay any longer in Arya's presence. It hurt that she had stopped him. The rational part of him knew that she was correct in deferring authority to Deynor when it came to the Twins but the other part of him wanted the two men dealt with.

What was worst was that it was Arya that laid at the heart of his actions. Not necessarily this Arya. It was his Arya he wanted justice for. He could kill the Twins a thousand times over and not satisfy the anger he felt when he thought about what they had done to her.

If his Arya was here, she would understand. She wouldn't stop him.

_But she isn't and she never will be here, _thought Eragon stopping to rub his face. He had to come to accept that fact and not question it. It hurt still even after over seventy years. Sighing, Eragon shook his head as he thought of his actions earlier. He had managed to offend Arya twice in one day. If only he could think clearly when she was involved but that was never the case.

A sigh left him once more as he turned his head to stare down at the corridor that he had angrily stormed through not but moments earlier.

He was going to have to find a way to apologize to her. It never bode well with him when he was not on good terms with Arya especially now since she had Fäolin to turn to in her time of need.

He could only hope that once the issue of the Twins were dealt with that she would forgive him. Inside him, he felt Arya's calm aura swirl within him as if asking for him to calm down.

**I really thought about reintroducing Faolin in different ways but nothing seemed to catch my eye really. And I wanted some sort of conflict to come from Arya having Faolin as her guard now. Not everything can be flowers and rainbows with Arya and Eragon. Though hopefully, the two of them will get together since I love writing ExA. There really isn't much that I have else to say apart from the fact that I hope to write more and upload more with less time in between. Anyways, having fun reading everyone! I hope to see you all very soon!**


	41. Chapter 40

**Chapter 40**

**Since I felt horrible about the month wait, I decided to update this chapter as quick as I could. A few new subplots are mentioned in this chapter and I hope it was enough to stir your thoughts about what's to come in this story! Wow, there's so much to write. Now before you all get to reading, I just want to address some concerns. Since there was a month in between my last update, I just wanted to reaffirm some facts. Most off all, rest assured ExA fans, this story is strictly ExA and it will happen as for how much longer, I don't really know but they will happen. So please don't worry about it. I know I write about Formora and Eragon quite often but it's just because I feel like they make a funny pair of companions. Expect to see more of them as well as Faolin and Selena. Anyways, R&R!**

"No doubt Queen Islanzadí was pleased with the idea of Fäolin asking to become Arya's guard," murmured Eragon as he kicked a ball made from tumbleweed against a fence post. Eragon scowled, still in his bad mood. It had been a day since the Twins made their appearance and when he woke, he did not have the courage to face Arya and had painstakingly waited until early morning passed before he slipped out of his quarters.

Then in order to avoid running into the elven princess, he had wandered away from the city of Tronjheim and found himself standing in a circular field underneath the mountains nearby a patch of land where the dwarves were raising cattle. He was more than confident that he would not cross paths with Arya where he was currently hiding from the elven ambassador.

_She is no doubt enjoying her time with Fäolin, _thought Eragon as the ball of tumbleweed came rolling back to him. He kicked it again, this time with much more force than necessary. The ball came rolling back to him once more. Narrowing his eyes at the object as if it had offended him greatly, he kicked it again. _She will not need me to comfort her anymore in her time of need._

Gritting his teeth, he kicked the ball of tumbleweed with more force than necessary, watching in dismay as it went sailing over the fence and bouncing off the back of a cow. Standing there, Eragon stared at the empty spot where the target of his frustration used to be.

"_Kausta," _he watched as the ball of tumbleweed came flying back from where he had kicked it and into Formora's waiting hands. He stared at the Dragon Rider, slightly surprised that she had managed to find him. The elf turned to him, tossing the ball in her hands with an expression of amusement on her face.

"Seeing you kick this ball back and forth makes you come across as a dejected child," commented Formora, the humor evident in her voice. He scoffed but did not protest her words, instead he crossed his arms across his chest and turned his head away from her. He was too riled up to even hold a proper conversation without feeling like he was going to snap at someone.

Catching the ball in her hands, Formora eyed him for a moment. Then in a quiet whisper, she said, "_Thrautha." _The ball of tumbleweed instantly flew from her hands towards where Eragon stood. He barely spared the projectile a glance before he raised his right hand.

"_Kodthr," _rather than flying into his face, the ball's course was remapped and it flew safely into Eragon's hand. He stared at the ball that he had made two hours earlier when he had found the field and the tumbleweeds lying about.

"Kick it to me," said Formora suddenly. Surprised at how at ease she sounded, he placed the ball on the ground and kicked it to her watching as she brought up her left foot to stop the ball in its track before sending it back his way. The two of them stayed quiet as they passed the ball back and forth.

Feeling his mind calm slightly at Formora's presence, he took a moment to reevaluate his surroundings. It was odd. He'd lived for more than nine decades if one were to combine the years he'd spent in this Alagaësia and his original Alagaësia. Yet, he'd never really played such childish games before in his entire life. His childhood had been robbed of such enjoyments. Faust and Galbatorix had made certain of that.

"You look perturbed," said Formora as she lightly sent the ball rolling his way, he lifted his head to catch Formora's blue eyes. In truth, he was a little. It was upsetting that he was letting a small detail from his past bother him, if only slightly.

"Just a little," said Eragon honestly, passing the ball back to Formora.

"Would you like to speak about it?"

He remained silent and deep in thought. No one had ever asked him about his childhood in this Alagaësia. Arya knew about his past or the small truths that he told her about it, but he never really spoke much about his struggles growing up as a young boy. It seemed far away and irrelevant in this time. To think that Formora would call attention to it made him feel strange. She made no move to push him on the matter which he was grateful for. Her silence gave him time to contemplate and weigh his thoughts on the matter.

"I was thinking about my childhood," said Eragon eventually.

"I can never imagine you as a child," said Formora with a slight smirk. "The thought of it is alien."

He glared at Formora, unappreciative of her response. Here he was trying to have a conversation with her and she had to reply callously. At his look, she laughed. He ignored her and stopped talking. Instead, he kicked the ball rather hard in her direction. She stopped it with ease and kicked it back at him, undaunted by his sudden sour mood.

"No need to be so angered," said Formora. "I merely jest. After knowing me for more than four decades, I had thought you would have realized the difference between my insults and my jests."

"It is a blurred line," he paused momentarily to collect his thoughts before he became irritated by Formora's comment. After a long moment of trying to collect his emotions and scattered thoughts, he began to speak once more. "I never had a chance to do something like this before."

"Why is that?" asked Formora softly.

"I just never thought about it," he reached up to scratch the back of his head feeling slightly awkward about sharing something so petty to Formora. Surely there were other matters of importance to speak to her about, but nothing came to him. All he could think about was his childhood or his lack thereof. "I never had any friends, not really."

Formora nodded. "With your attitude, I do not doubt that."

"I suppose," agreed Eragon. He was a withdrawn child, always following his mother around. In his young mind, as long as he had his mother, he needed no one else. And then when Saphira hatched for him, he had been forced to grow up. There was no time nor place in his years spent training under Galbatorix that was meant for a child and not a Rider. "Looking back at myself when I was younger, I can hardly recognize the boy I once used to be."

"People change, Eragon," said Formora with a shake of her head. "Rarely does one remain who they are as time passes."

"Still," he made a small gesture of his left hand, as if trying to wave away the excuse she made for him. "When I was younger, I was filled with resentment and anger. It ate away at me to the point that I could not bear to look at myself anymore. Each time I saw myself, I could not recognize the person staring back at me. I was ruthless and withdrawn, more so than I am now. And in order to alleviate my guilt at losing sight of myself, I donned a helm for nigh on three years—refusing to show myself in public, refusing to look at the monster I have become."

"What changed?" Formora asked softly, the corners of her lips drawn downwards.

"Many things," Eragon sighed, running a hand through his chestnut locks. His hair had grown out and some of the locks were beginning to fall into his eyes. Perhaps he would ask Rosalie to trim his hair one day. It was dangerous to have his line of vision obscured if only slightly by his own hair. He knew Formora could catch on that he was hiding things about his past from her but she did not pursue that particular vein in the conversation. Instead, she let him keep to his ambiguity.

_Perhaps she understands how it feels like to be questioned about the past, _thought Eragon as he lowered his hand.

"It is hard for me to believe that you were once such a person," said Formora honestly, a frown on her face. "It is a dissonancy in my mind, trying to picture the person you once were and the person you are now. Whatever happened, I am glad that you were able to let go of your past and move on."

"So am I," Eragon agreed with her wholeheartedly. He could only imagine where his anger and resentment would have led him had he not sought to forget it. He smiled slightly at Formora, feeling rather sheepish that she had to hear about who he used to be even if he wasn't being wholly truthful with her. "I feel childish having admitted such. Perhaps even more so seeing as we are doing something such as a childish game."

"There is no crime in wanting to have some enjoyment every once and a while," said Formora with a raise of her brow. Her red lips curved upwards in a slight smile.

"I have lived for a long time now," said Eragon shaking his head. He kicked the ball one last time towards Formora. "My childhood feels like another life to me."

"It is never too late to want to do something. At least, that is what I have learned," said Formora, her blue eyes bright. She eyed him for a while, then a dangerous smirk curved onto her lips. Without any warning, she lifted her left foot and tossed the ball into the air, then with the elegance of a dancer, brought her foot up to kick the ball towards him.

Surprised, Eragon let the round object bounce off his chest. It took him a minute to gather his thoughts. When he did, he shot Formora a questioning look.

"Let us play a game then," said Formora simply.

"No," Eragon shook his head. "If you want to play a game than do so yourself."

"Do not be so dull," said Formora with a slightly displeased expression.

He did not respond to her and instead tried for the method that he always used whenever Formora made a request or asked something of him that he could not or would not answer to: he simply ignored her.

Undaunted by his silence, Formora began to do something that had always riled Eragon in the past and will always get a rise out of him, especially when it came to her in particular. "Afraid that a Forsworn will outdo you, Eragon? In a mere child's game?" taunted Formora, looking as if she believed herself to much more superior to him. "I suppose you have the right to feel inferior. After all, you never actually played such a game—as simple as it is."

"What did you say?" asked Eragon before he could stop himself.

"Do not mind me," Formora waved her hand dismissively, almost as if she were lazily swatting a fly. Then she pinned him with a confident stare. "Perhaps one of those two elves would be a better opponent than you would be. Maybe I shall bend my pride and ask them to join me."

Without knowing it, Formora had stepped on a sensitive matter. Instantly, Eragon straightened his back and glared at her. At the mere thought of Fäolin, Eragon's blood started pounding through his veins. "What are the rules?" asked Eragon with a dangerous tone.

Triumphant, Formora began to walk away from him and with Domia, etched two lines in the grass that were about one hundred and fifty yards from each other. Making sure that they were prominent, she returned to his side, sheathing her blade.

"The rules are simple," said Formora as she lightly rolled the ball with her feet to sit between them. "The first person to get the ball past the opponent's line with the use of their feet wins. Your line is behind you while mine is behind me. No magic and no weapons will be involved. Unless of course you believe yourself at a disadvantage and would like to perhaps even the playing field?"

The last part she added mockingly and Eragon's eyes narrowed. "Do not mock me, Formora."

She smirked. The two of them stood there, staring each other down. Formora tucked a strand of her behind her ear. "The game starts when the next cow is lowing."

Eragon nodded. Focusing his attention on the sounds about them, he waited until he heard the familiar low call of a cow. From the concentration on Formora's face, he could tell that she was also actively waiting for the sound.

It wasn't until two full minutes passed before he heard the lowing of one of the cows. Quick as he could, he shifted his feet forward to slip the ball past Formora. He barely managed to move the ball a few feet from the center before Formora was upon him like a shadow. Trying to turn his body to block hers, he blinked when he felt her elbow connect with his gut, causing him to double over. Unable to guard the ball, he cursed when she took possession of it.

Refusing to lose, Eragon straightened and still a little bit wound up from her elbow jab, he raced after her. "You cheat!" Eragon proclaimed as he circled around her, preventing her from moving the ball any further.

"Cheat? I never said anything about harming the other opponent if need be," said Formora and with that said, she slammed her shoulder into his chest. Grimacing at the impact, he clenched his teeth. If she was going to play the game like so, he wasn't going to back down. Using his strength as leverage, Eragon pushed Formora to the side. Before she could regain her bearings, he was already kicking the ball towards her line.

The game continued for nearly thirty minutes with the two of them refusing to yield to each other. Though Eragon tried to play at Formora's level, she made playing unfairly an art. Despite that, Eragon's stubbornness had led him to become the victor. Having enough to Formora's attacks, when they were towards her line more so than his, he had resolutely picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder and then with ease, kicked the ball across her line much to her fiery outburst.

"I win," said Eragon in a rather smug tone as he set her down.

Her expression was cold as she glared at him. "So you say, cheater."

"And the cheater calls the other a cheater," Eragon shook his head. "You have yourself to blame."

She did not say anything but he knew that Formora was not in the least bit offended even if she tried to make it seem like she was. It was in these rare moments, that he valued her friendship. She glanced at the ball that was sitting motionless on the grass and then back at Eragon.

"It is good to see that you are feeling better," said Formora then she let out a sigh. "I suppose now is a good time to tell you why I came to find you originally… Deynor has asked for your presence in the evening. He is holding a small counsel over the matters of those nameless Twins."

At the mention of the Twins, Eragon did not feel uncontrollably angry as he did yesterday. Instead, he felt a deep seated determination in his heart to see that those two men were dealt with one way or another. "It is nearing evening. I have lingered here long enough," with that said, he left the ball and grassy field and began to make his way towards the heart of Tronjheim with Formora falling into step beside him.

"Where is Veric?" questioned Formora.

"Sleeping in my quarters, I believe his travels with Arya has worn him out," said Eragon with a slight smile at the thought of the large Shrrg curled up in on itself in the corner of Eragon's living room. He turned the question on Formora. "Where is your dragon?"

"Herding sheep," Formora said sarcastically. At his stare, she amended herself. "He is off hunting."

"Hunting sheep?"

"No, the wool irritates him for it becomes lodged in his teeth," said Formora, her expression rather fond as she spoke of her dragon.

As they walked together, he and Formora exchanged small talk. What they talked about wasn't important in the least. The topics ranged from trivial matters such as Formora's annoyance with the dwarves to her thoughts about him being a spoilt child when he was younger. And then when they had nothing to say to each other, a comfortable silence would rest over them.

"Are you allowed at the meeting?" asked Eragon as they neared the conference chamber. Even though Formora had been with them _officially _for fifteen years, there were those still weary of her and her past. And it was a silent agreement amongst Deynor and others excluding Eragon, that Formora should not be allowed to hear about matters concerning the Varden.

"He has asked that I participate seeing as it is Galbatorix's spies we are dealing with. Who better to ask than a Forsworn?" she said simply.

"Who indeed," murmured Eragon as they continued up the hall towards the conference chamber. Eragon fought to control his emotions as he spotted the group approaching them from the opposite direction. He should have known Arya would have been part of the meeting as well. Taking in a deep breath, he steeled himself as they neared the three elves.

When the five of them stopped a few feet away from the door of the conference chamber, Eragon nodded to Arya and her guards. "Arya," he murmured quietly.

Her response was just as quiet as his. "Eragon."

An awkward mood descended upon them and had it not been for Formora, he would not have known what to say in such a situation. "And who are these two?" she gestured to both Fäolin and Glenwing, genuinely curious.

"They are my guards: Fäolin and Glenwing," Arya answered. She gestured to each elf respectively. Then for the sake of politeness, she introduced Eragon and Formora to the two of them.

"We are well met again, Eragon," said Fäolin rather stiffly. Eragon nodded to him "Well met, Formora."

Formora did not say anything but only continued to watch them with mild interest.

"Greetings, Eragon," Glenwing smiled at him, seemingly not noticing the tensed and awkward atmosphere or choosing to ignore it entirely. "I have heard many good things about you."

"We are well met," said Eragon deciding in that moment that he liked Glenwing much more than Fäolin. When the elf turned his attention to Formora, Eragon could tell that he was trying his best to say something kind and polite to the Forsworn but did not seem to find the words.

"I suppose you have heard many terrible things about me," said Formora with a raise of her brow almost as if she were mocking the elf guard.

Before Glenwing could reply, Eragon motioned towards the door. "Let us not tarry any longer, Deynor is waiting."

Introductions settled for the moment, Eragon pushed the door open to find Deynor seated at the head of the long table with Orik sitting a few seats away from the leader of the Varden and Faramir sitting on Deynor's immediate right. Taking a seat on Deynor's left and across from the commander of the Varden, Eragon turned his head expecting Arya to take a seat beside him but to his slight disappointment, Formora seated herself to Eragon's left. Arya on the other hand took a seat next to Faramir, her two guards moving to stand a few yards behind her.

Averting his eyes from Arya, he turned his focus on to the two people who had aged the most in the group. Deynor was no longer his young and sturdy self. He had grown old with gray hair and a matching beard. There were lines and wrinkles on his face but despite his appearance, his mind was sharp if not more than it was when he was younger. Faramir had also aged in the past fifteen years. He was no longer the young commander that Eragon had suggested to appoint. Instead, he was in his middle years raising a family of four. It had been Eragon's distinct pleasure to have met Faramir's two children when they were born—twin boys, both of whom were crossing the threshold into adulthood.

When everyone was situated, Deynor wasted no time in getting to the heart of the matter. "As you are all well aware, two spies sent from Galbatorix were apprehended the past day. They are being held as prisoners as of currently."

"Have you managed to extract any information from them?" asked Eragon, not having heard word on that front since the Twins were brought in.

"The Du Gata Vrangr was very helpful on that front, it would seem as if the two are not as skilled of magicians as we thought them to be at least not compared to our own magicians," said Deynor with a pleased look. "It would seem as though Galbatorix merely sent these two to try and garner any sort of information of the Varden to pass back to him. He gave them no other purpose and therefore did not seek to train them adeptly in the art of magic."

"Have you learned anything valuable?" asked Eragon.

"Nothing we did not already know about Galbatorix, although there was one thing that caught my attention," said Deynor. He eyed both Eragon and Formora. "It would seem as if there is a feared assassin that we must be aware of—someone they call the Black Hand."

At the mention of the Black Hand, Eragon's fingers twitched where they rested on his armrest. He had been wondering when he was going to hear word of his mother. _So she is working under Morzan already, _thought Eragon as he stared at the marble table. There were so many events he had to keep track of. Brom was going to return to the Varden soon and he was going to be bringing Jeod to search for a way to retrieve the eggs. His mother will soon be with child and he could only pray that child was Murtagh.

"The Black Hand?" grunted Orik. "There is nothing more of this person?"

"No, not even the Twins know who such a person is," said Deynor with a shake of his head. "All we have managed to gather is that this Black Hand is a fearsome enemy, perhaps even deadlier than the Ra'zac or Durza."

"And this person serves Galbatorix?" asked Formora with a raise of her brow, interested.

"No," at the sound of Eragon's voice, everyone fell silent. "The Black Hand only serves Morzan, no one else."

"How are you so certain, Eragon?" asked Faramir. The commander, whom Eragon considered a close friend, had asked out of genuine curiosity and not out of suspicion.

"I have heard whispers of such a person but there was never any proof that the Black Hand or so they are called actually existed. I had wanted to see if I could gather more concrete proof before I could present this potential threat to you, Deynor," said Eragon, bowing his head slightly. "I apologize if my lack of forthcoming on this matter has offended you."

"There is no need to apologize," said Deynor not placing any blame on Eragon. "In any case, you had the Varden's best interests in mind. There would have been no use in chasing shadows. Now that we know that the Black Hand exists, we can seek to guard against this danger."

"Rather hard to guard against if no one knows anything apart from the fact that the Black Hand only serves Morzan," said Formora as if she were speaking to someone overly simple minded. Eragon's lips thinned but he did not reprimand Formora for her lack of respect. Almost everyone had grown to tolerate her lack of manners. Causing a fuss about it was pointless now.

"Still, being aware is already half the battle," said Deynor not at all bothered by Formora's words.

"What about the Black Hand specifically that we should be alert for?" asked Arya finally speaking.

"Ah, yes," Deynor momentarily cleared his throat and then to Eragon's surprise, he turned his gaze on Eragon. "It would seems as if the Black Hand has specific orders to assassinate you."

Not showing any sort of emotion, Eragon tilted his head to the side as if he found the news of someone intent on his death mildly intriguing. In truth, he was more amused than worried. It felt odd to see everyone staring at him in concern while he felt like laughing. To think his mother would be out for his blood. To think Morzan would think of him such a great threat, he would send her after him. Whether the Forsworn knew it or not, Selena held a distinct advantage over Eragon. He would never harm his mother even if she was intent on doing harm to him.

"I see," murmured Eragon.

"Perhaps you should have guards with you, Eragon," suggested Faramir.

"No, there is no need," said Eragon sitting back in his seat. He knew what his mother looked like and he knew her history. The only thing he was in the dark about was how she was as a person at this age. He had heard that she was charming but cold, devoted to a fault, and ruthless if need be. Her softer side only emerged when she gave birth to Murtagh. "I can handle myself, especially if the Black Hand is merely one person that is neither Shade nor Ra'zac."

"Brom is one man," Formora said suddenly. "And yet he has managed to kill off close to half of the Forsworn."

"Aye, though you are skilled Eragon, the danger is no less," added Orik. "Especially if the enemy hides by cloaks and shadows."

"Let us leave the matter to rest," Eragon tapped his forefinger silently against his armrest. "We have originally convened to discuss matters of the Twins. Concerns of the Black Hand can be held off for another time, at least until the threat becomes more immediate."

"If you are not worried, then I will leave the matter for another time," agreed Deynor, once more showing his faith in Eragon and his judgments. "As for the Twins, the two men do not know any more than what we have managed to extract from their minds."

"They are useless to us now," said Eragon.

"That they are," Deynor frowned slightly. "Keeping them imprisoned will be a meaningless use of resources. We will have to dispose of them so that they may not have a chance to harm the Varden."

Those were the words Eragon was waiting to hear. He fought a triumphant smirk. The Twins will no longer have the chance to cause any trouble. "Let me dispose of them, Deynor," said Eragon. "They will not be able to pull any sort of tricks against me."

"Since you have willingly offered, let us go with your suggestion," Deynor nodded. "I will have the guards notified. By tomorrow evening, I hope the matter will be dealt with."

"Of course," Eragon tapped the armrest once more. "I shall have them dealt with by early morn, rest assured."

"That is good to hear," said Deynor. He went on to speak about other matters of the Varden and while he spoke, Eragon found himself unable to listen. Instead, his mind was focused on multiple things. A few more years and the convergence was going to happen. He did not know what to expect and could not wholly believe in what Angela had thought up many years ago. He discreetly glanced at Arya to see that her attention was focused on Deynor. Then his eyes flickered to Fäolin and Glenwing.

He had spent decades helping to build the Varden into a strong organization with a steadfast centralized authority as well as strong ties with their allies. So long as Arya was not harmed, King Evandar would not turn the Varden away in their time of need. Hrothgar so long as he was alive would always be a steadfast ally. The army was strong and loyal. What was more was that the Du Gata Vrangr was a strong group of magicians. The only thing they lacked to Galbatorix's magicians is the knowledge of dark magic which Eragon did not seek to teach them.

If he were to leave, he didn't have to worry about the Varden collapsing on itself. His eyes darted to Deynor. He had aged well and Eragon knew that they would have to think of a new leader soon. If Eragon were to guess, he would say that Ajihad was currently making his way to the Varden with Nasuada. They wouldn't have to worry about a new leader once the dark skinned man arrived and showed his competence.

"If there is nothing else to be said, let us adjourn for now," said Deynor bringing an end to the discussion.

"I will like to say something," said Eragon before he could stop himself. The idea had sprung to the forefront of his mind and he saw no other way about it than to announce it now. Lifting his head, his eyes flickered from face to face, lingering for a fraction longer on Arya's before he turned to stare at Deynor. "I would like to ask in advance for a leave of absence from the Varden."

Silence reigned about the room and he did not have to look at their expressions to know that they were shocked. Eragon avoided looking at Arya for the moment the words left his lips he saw a flash of shock on her face followed by a brief glimpse of loss and concern combined.

"Leave?" Faramir repeated quietly as if the idea was alien to him.

"Not indefinitely," Eragon reassured him.

"When will you leave?" asked Orik, looking as if he did entirely know what was going on.

"Not now, I only wanted to tell you of my future plans," said Eragon truthfully. "Perhaps not until a few more years at most."

"Then we can discuss it then," said Deynor, his surprise had passed and instead he was staring at Eragon with something akin to kindness as if understanding that Eragon had something important he had to do. "There is no need to split hairs over it now."

"Thank you for your consideration, Deynor," said Eragon trying to sound somewhat sincere to his old friend.

With a rather subdued atmosphere, the meeting was dismissed. Leaving the chamber with Formora trailing behind him, Eragon mentally sighed. He couldn't be greedy and want to stay with the Varden when he had to put his knowledge of the future to use. He had to think about other things apart from Arya. And now with Fäolin and Glenwing at her side and with the Twins soon to be dealt with, he had no other excuse to prolong his stay with the Varden.

Just as he was thinking, he blinked when he caught sight of Formora disappearing around a corner. That was odd, usually she would say something snarky to him before up and leaving. Ignoring it, he was about to make his way back to his quarters but thought against it.

Instead, he found himself standing in the open grassy field he was in earlier that day and was tossing the ball he had made in his hands. Once more, he had fled in order to avoid Arya. Where had his courage gone? Dejectedly tossing the ball on the ground, he sighed, feeling tired all of a sudden. He had been waiting for the convergence but it frightened him, somewhat.

What if he'd changed events too much? What if he wasn't born in this world? Just the thought of it terrified him. Not being his parents' son, not being Saphira's Rider, and not being there for Arya made his blood run cold.

Kicking the ball softly, he watched as it seemed to feebly crawl across the ground. Frowning, he walked up to the ball and kicked it, watching as it flew past the line that Formora had drawn earlier that day into the grass and into the waiting hands of Arya. Surprised, he froze, his eyes searching for her guards but was unable to find Fäolin or Glenwing. Unsure of whether or not he should feel dread or relief, he held his ground as she walked up to him.

"I apologize if I was interrupting your time of solitude," said Arya, her eyes downcast. Then as if steeling herself, she held the ball of tumbleweed out to him. "I wanted to speak with you before the morrow came."

"It is alright," said Eragon taking the ball from her.

The two of them stood there, staring at each other. He tried to find the words to talk to her but found himself unable to. It just wouldn't come to him. How was he going to explain his behavior to her? Just as he was thinking, Arya had saved him from making a decision as she shifted her hair about her shoulder, looking oddly insecure.

"Have I done something to offend you?"

He shook his head. "No, it was not you. I am sorry. I was not feeling myself yesterday. I did not mean to act so offensive towards you. It was a mistake on my part."

She nodded. "It is forgiven…You shall be leaving the Varden?"

"Sometime in the future," said Eragon, he turned the ball in his hand unsure of what else to say on the matter. Catching the concerned look in Arya's eyes, he decided to try and elaborate as best as he could. "It is something that I believe can aid in the Varden's fight against Galbatorix. I will be back, do not worry." Attempting to move onto a different subject, he instead breached the subject that had been gnawing at him. "You have guards now."

"Yes, it was suggested during my stay in Ellesméra and King Evandar and his mate, Islanzadí, had been pleased with the thought," said Arya. "I did not have the heart to deny them."

"I see," said Eragon. He struggled with his thoughts for a moment and then with great effort, said, "I am glad. I will not have to worry when I leave the Varden in the future. You will be well protected."

"You shall be careful, will you not?" asked Arya, her emerald eyes bright.

"Do not worry about me," said Eragon, lifting his hand, he reached out and gently placed it on her shoulder. "I am grateful for your concern."

She smiled at him, her eyes holding his before they flickered to the ball in his other hand. With a gentle smile, she pointed an elegant finger at the round object. "Would you like to indulge me in a game?"

Unlike how he had denied Formora at first, Eragon nodded. Pulling his hand back, the two of them made their way towards the center between the two lines in the ground. Setting the ball on the ground, he went to stand opposite Arya. It was like the game he had played with Formora earlier that day but the only difference was that Arya did not physically attack him for the ball. Instead, the two of them spent their time chasing each other about the field trying to wrestle the ball towards each other's line.

He could not remember a time in the last fifteen years had he seen Arya smile and laugh so much and it lightened his heart tremendously despite the impending thought of leaving the Varden within a few years.

He chuckled as Arya kicked the ball over his line, a laugh leaving her lips. She turned to him with a wide smile, her white teeth adding to her radiance. Dazed, Eragon stared at her. "Another round?" Arya suggested to him.

"Another round," smiled Eragon as she picked up the ball and made her way back towards him. However much time he had left to spend with Arya, he was not going to take for granted. And he knew that in the near future when they were apart, he could always bring the memory of this moment to the forefront of his mind and be comforted by her laugh and smile.

**Yes, I plan to have Eragon leave the Varden but that doesn't mean you all won't get to see Arya anymore. She will be part of this story and there will be more Arya POVs to come. In any case, I hope you all liked this chapter. Just some friendly bonding as well as the mention of Eragon's mother. I'm working on them meeting and hopefully that chapter will be up soon. In any case, I just like to go off on a tangent here. I recently have taken a liking to zombie games. I bought "The Walking Dead" and absolutely love it. I'm planning on getting "The Last of Us" but I don't want to buy another game until I get my preorder of "Watch Dogs" anyone anticipating that one? I'm so excited! Anyways, that's it for my game fanatic side. In any case, I hope to see you all soon!**


	42. Chapter 41

**Chapter 41**

**I've been moving around a lot lately. My back packing trip is going to start soon so there's that. I've been enjoying myself at a few theme parks these past weeks. So, I'm always tired whenever I get back and I go to sleep without even thinking of my laptop (which has become lonely I'll bet). Apart from that I've been working on this chapter at very odd hours now that I think about it. Oh some nice news. RL has hit one million views which makes me insanely happy. TMF has a way to go before it can match up with RL but I feel like this story has its own appeal. A lot of the reviews have asked about the wait for ExA. I can only say that it will take a few more chapters before we get there. There's a lot of stuff to get past before ExA happens. Also, this chapter will probably make you all even more confused. But that's a good thing in my view. Confusion makes you think more even if it gives you headaches. Anyways, R&R everyone!**

The halls were quiet as she walked, her footsteps silent atop the concrete floors. It was still the hours of early morning and not all of the Varden had awoken and begun their day. They were, of course, not like Arya, who kept a strict and busy schedule that required her full devotion day by day. However, this morning she'd decided to wake up earlier than she usually did. There was something she wanted to witness firsthand and she didn't feel comfortable if Fäolin and Glenwing were to follow behind her as they've been tasked with doing.

It wasn't that she minded their company, it was quite the opposite. It was nice to have companions though, she was slightly irked when her mother had suggested that she take guards with her. Arya would have flatly denied her had it not been for how her father seemed to take the idea in stride. She bit her lip as she thought of her father. A part of her appreciated his doting affections but another part of her—the one more attune to the warrior in her—wanted to show her parents that she was able to take care of herself. Her pride wanted to reassert the fact that she didn't need guards to mind her.

_Yet if it puts their minds at ease, _thought Arya with a quiet sigh, she would not deny them. In her life, she'd played the perfect role as elven ambassador but a less perfect role as a daughter. If doing this would allow her parents to go about their days with less worry, she would do so. It was not in her to be selfish in regards to her own feelings.

Reaching up, Arya tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes narrowed as she thought of her mother and how short and strained their meeting was. Her father had insisted on them coming together for a family dinner. It was short lived and it seemed as if her father had been the only lively part of the conversation, if there was one.

Turning a corner, she pushed opened a door to reveal a stairway. Closing the door behind her, she began to descend the steps, her mind flitting back to the time she'd spent in Ellesméra.

"_Arya, I wish to give this to you," eyes widening in surprise, Arya took in the sight of the black flower in his hand. She stared at the flower, her eyes trailing upwards to the fair face that peered down at her. Moved by his kind gesture, she reached out to take the Black Morning Glory in hand, when their fingers brushed she blinked as Fäolin curled his slender fingers about hers, holding her hand in place._

_His blue eyes were gentle as they stared down at her and she felt her skin flush. She wasn't used to such an intimate gesture._

"_Thank you for such a gift," murmured Arya in a low voice, as she peered up at him underneath her lashes. His smile widened, showing his bright teeth and the hand that encased hers, squeezed lightly._

"_There is no need for thanks," said Fäolin shaking his head. "I only wish to give you a symbol of what you mean to me. It has been long in coming…I apologize for the lateness of my gift. There was never an appropriate time and you have always seemed too busy to approach with your duties and whatnot."_

"_Fäolin," Arya said gently, a smile curving on her lips. It was endearing how Fäolin rushed to apologize to her. "I understand your feelings. There is no need to apologize."_

_His eyes searched hers and then he relaxed. Then rather reluctantly, he released her hand, gesturing to the delicate flower she was holding. "Do you like the flower?"_

"_Yes, it is beautiful," answered Arya truthfully. Morning Glories had always been her favorite type of flowers. How had Fäolin caught on? Regardless, it gave her joy that he could recognize something so simple. She'd been so used to working and following her duties that receiving such a simple gift made her heart warm. "I shall cherish it, always."_

_The two of them smiled at each other and after a long walk in the gardens, Arya parted from Fäolin to return to her quarters. She had a meeting with her mother and father early morn. It was best not to be tardy. Finishing the incantation, Arya smiled at the perfect glass orb in her hands which encased the flower that Fäolin had gifted to her._

_Then with a light heart, she made her way to the study to place the orb when she froze, her eyes catching sight of another glass orb that was resting on the table, the flower inside it forever preserved due to magic. It was a great contrast to the flower that she had just been recently given. The white rose was frozen in its blossom, showing its delicate beauty._

_Placing the glass orb she was holding on the table, Arya picked up the one encasing the rose. She carried the orb with her whenever she moved between the Varden and Ellesméra for long periods of time. It acted almost like a talisman of some sort. Arya wasn't spiritual in any means, but the gift gave her comfort. It was almost like having Eragon by her side. She couldn't explain it well but being in his presence always put her at ease._

_With a faint smile, she returned the glass orb to its stand, retaking the one with the Black Morning Glory in her hands. She would leave the rose in her study but she would place the morning glory in her bedroom._

Smiling at the memory, Arya continued to descend the steps pausing when she heard a cry of agony, muffled by the wooden door that stood at the very bottom. Standing before the door were two sturdy guards. They regarded her with respect, bowing their heads.

"Lady Arya," they murmured as she stepped off the bottom step and stopped before them.

Another cry sounded through the door. "What is happening?" asked Arya with furrowed brows.

The two guards exchanged glances and the one with a thick beard spoke, his voice deep. "Lord Eragon is currently with the Twins. We were told not to interfere with what it is that he is doing until he is done."

"Aye, Lord Deynor has also given him the rights to do away with the two spies," said his companion. "His actions are not in violation of any of our rules."

_They are quick to protect him, _thought Arya slightly impressed by how fast the two guards jumped to Eragon's protection even when he probably didn't need it. Arya quickly put their worries at rest. In any case, she never questioned Eragon, what he did and the secrets that he harbored were his own. All she knew was that he was someone they could trust with their lives and trust him she did.

"I would like to see him," said Arya. At their doubtful looks, she continued speaking. "You will not be in trouble. I shall take full responsibility if he is to be angered by my actions. Do not worry."

Reassured, they opened the door for her allowing her through. The moment the door closed once more behind her, her ears were assaulted with another loud screech of pain that seemed impossible to be from a human. The sound of the person's anguish made a chill run down her spine.

With quiet footsteps, Arya made her way forward through the stone prison. On either side of her were thick metal doors to an endless row of cells. Further along, standing with her back to the wall was Formora, her head tilted upwards and a dark expression on her face.

As if sensing Arya's presence, the Rider turned her head in her direction. A look of surprise passed on her face before her lips curled into what looked like a smirk. Without giving away any more of what she was thinking, Formora returned her gaze to the open doorway of the cell before her. Another tortured scream reached Arya's ears followed by a muffled yell.

"Have you come for pleasantries?" asked Formora, casting a sideways glance at Arya. Her blue eyes were sharp and hard but the look she wore made her look at ease as if she never heard the screams in the first place. "If you did, you have come to the wrong place."

"I came to see Eragon…execute the spies," said Arya, the words grimly leaving her lips. She raised a brow, in questioning. "What is he doing?"

"Take a look for yourself," Formora gestured to the open doorway.

She turned her eyes to the doorway and fought a grimace at the stains of blood that clung to the concrete. From the limited view from where she stood, she could only get a glimpse into the cell and what she saw made her stomach turn.

Eragon stood, tall and imposing, over one of the Twins. The other one was bound by heavy chains and a gag was in his mouth to prevent him from speaking. The twin at Eragon's feet was writhing in pain, clutching at his broken left arm, which was bleeding profusely. She watched as Eragon moved his right foot forward to hold over the man's broken arm and he pressed down, eliciting another loud yell.

On instinct, Arya moved forward to stop him but Formora's cold voice stopped her. "Leave him be," at Arya's stare, Formora sighed. "The world is not as simple as you think it is, Arya. There will be times when one has to soil their hands in order to pave the way for something better."

"Is that a law of the Forsworn?" asked Arya with narrowed eyes.

Formora merely stared at her rather than getting offended. "It's the law of the world. You will do well to understand that. You have served the Varden for almost fifty years, I would think you understand that at times, the line between justice and evil is blurred…And do not think this is any easier for Eragon."

Arya opened her mouth to speak but found herself unable to. Instead, she merely pursed her lips. At her expression, Formora released a scoff of disdain. "People like you are the reason why people like Eragon exists. You cannot bare to soil your own hands so you push it onto someone else."

"That is not it," protested Arya vehemently.

"Oh?" a spark of interest appeared in her eyes. "Then why are you so against it?"

As if to strengthen Formora's point, the twin let out another tortured scream followed by Eragon's cold words. "I know you are lying to me," she heard his dark tone and fought a frown. He was so different, this Eragon and the kind one whom she met in Rhunön's forge. Thinking of the two of them as the same person made her head hurt.

Unable to answer Formora's words, Arya remained quiet. Instead, her eyes returned to the blood, it kept pooling on the floor. The man was deathly pale and if Eragon did not execute him, he was going to die of blood lost.

Averting her eyes from the crimson liquid, she found them drawn to Vrangr in its scabbard. Staring at the weapon, she felt a sense of calm wash over her. She rarely if ever saw Eragon use Vrangr. It was as if he treasured the weapon—too much to use. As she stared at it, the scabbard seemed to pulse as if emanating a dark aura. Her eyes darted to Formora. Rather than staring at Vrangr, she was staring intently at the man trying to squirm away from Eragon. And Eragon himself seemed to not notice that his sword was pulsing.

Incapable of tearing her eyes away from the weapon, she felt a heavy weight close around her mind, soothing and gentle as if trying to shield her from what was happening before her. But she didn't want to be shielded. She wanted to see firsthand the difficulties Eragon faced for their sake.

Then a sharp pang erupted in her skull, effectively drawing her attention away from the scene. She blinked trying to clear her mind but it wasn't working. What was this? Releasing a quiet breath, she turned away as another scream pierced the air.

_A man wearing heavy armor and a helm that resembled a demon's stood before her. The horns that protruded from each side of his helm made his ensemble resemble that of a Kull rather than a knight. He stood before her; his presence dark and overwhelming._

The image was gone as it came, faster than the blink of the eye to be replaced with another one.

_A dark cell, moonlight streaming through the high window above to which a bird sat, singing a sorrowful melody as if to bring with it bad news. There lying on the cot, curled in on herself was a dark haired woman whose face Arya couldn't make out._

She clenched her teeth, feeling the urge to reach up and press her fingers to her temples—to try and hold the waves of pain at bay. Yet, her body would not listen to her. It was as if she was detached from the world—ripped from the flow of reality.

_She was flying and she could see the world below her. The mountains seemed to stretch on as if never ending and to accompany it was the river. It was serene and placid and from this vantage it appeared as if there were no hardships in the world._

_Suddenly the vision was plunged into darkness and instead of the horizon facing her and Alagaësia underneath her, a vast ocean greeted her. The water was tinged red as if it were blood and dark vine-like tentacles laid underneath its surface._

_Laying atop the surface was a shattered white tomb._

_Trying to shake the images from her mind she gasped when she found herself standing in a gloomy place. Her feet stood on water and below the surface she could see glowing orbs floating as if content to remain underwater and not break free. Rivers of emerald light emerged from the water at random distances from each other but despite being spaced apart, they appeared connected._

"_What is this place?" murmured Arya as she tentatively took a step forward, half fearing she would be plunged into the water beneath her feet. To her relief, the surface held._

"_You should trust him more," a familiar voice called to her. Hurriedly turning on the spot, she found herself staring at the back of a tall woman with long ebony hair. The woman was dressed in fine clothing, trimmed with gold lace. At her right hip was an emerald blade._

_Arya's eyes narrowed. She'd seen that blade before._

"_Who are you?" asked Arya reaching for her own weapon only to find that it was not with her._

"_I am not your enemy," the person turned her head as if she wanted to face Arya but thought better of it. Instead, she lowered her face to the ground as if deep in thought. Then after a long pause, she spoke once more. "You should trust Eragon more."_

"_I trust him," denied Arya. She did not need this person to tell her how to manage her friendship with Eragon._

_A soft laugh left the woman before Arya and she shook her head. "A part of you does not…"_

"_You do not know me," said Arya with narrowed eyes. She did not like whoever it is that was talking to her. "Nor do you know my relationship to Eragon. I trust him with my life."_

"_You are afraid, Arya," the person said gently as if she understood what it was that Arya was going through. "He will not hurt you. He has always been there to protect you, has he not? What he does, whether or not you believe it to be morally right, he does for your benefit—for the benefit of Alagaësia."_

_Arya made to respond but found that she lacked the words. It felt humiliating to have such a tightly locked fear of hers being thrown back in her face. She knew that what Eragon did, he did for the people. But she was afraid of him turning into someone like Galbatorix. It was an irrational fear but the image of his callous and cold expression made her throat constrict._

"_Who are you to him?" asked Arya eventually, trying to fill the void that the silence had made._

"_Someone who wishes to be with him," she said simply much to Arya's surprise. Arya watched as the woman shifted, her hair moving with her to show pointed ears. An elf? "I have a favor to ask of you."_

"_What is it that you want of me?" asked Arya, curiously._

"_Please take care of Eragon," she said with a tone of amusement as if she found him endearing. "He looks capable but he can act childishly sometimes…Be careful not to hurt him." She made to leave but before she could, Arya called out to her feeling as if she should get to know her more for some reason._

"_Will I see you again?"_

"_You will…And Arya?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_Be careful of who you give your heart to."_

A piercing scream tore her back to reality. Blinking, her eyes came into focus as Eragon unsheathed Vrangr and with a quick flourish of his sword beheaded the man on the ground. Instantly a spray of blood drenched both Eragon and the cell. His twin, who was still bound, began to trash and from the way his face was turning red, Arya could tell he was cursing vehemently at Eragon.

"And down goes one twin," said Formora, examining her nails as if she had better things to do. Arya was too disorientated to respond to Formora's apathetic words. Killing, no matter what the reason, was not something to take lightly.

Having regained control of her body, Arya reached up to rub her temple as she tried to make sense of what it was that had happened to her. _That elf…_It was strange but Arya felt as if she knew her from somewhere. She felt like a close friend from a forgotten age. But the sword on her right hip went against the familiar feeling she had when the woman spoke to her. The emerald blade was a symbol that showed that the elf was a Rider. And the only riders Arya had met in her lifetime were Brom, Eragon, and Formora. She'd never yet to meet that woman.

"Interesting."

Formora's words brought Arya's attention back to the situation at hand. Her eyes darted to the Forsworn but Formora was not looking at her. Instead, her blue eyes were focused intently ahead and her expression was contemplative. Turning her attention in the direction that Formora was looking, Arya felt her eyes widen at the sight before her. Protruding from the headless body of the twin that Eragon had just executed was Vrangr.

Yet, it was doing something Arya had only heard of in texts. The sword was pulsing a dangerous violet edge and to her shock, it was absorbing the blood from the lifeless body. Within minutes, the headless body was but a mere skeleton.

"A demonic blade," observed Formora with a raised brow seemingly unperturbed by what had just happened. "How did she forge such a weapon?"

At her question, Arya's mind flashed to the woman with the emerald blade. Reexamining what she remembered of their brief encounter, a chord of realization sounded within her. She had seen that woman in Eragon's memory before. Could it be that she was the one to have forged him Vrangr and his armor?

Retrieving his sword from the skeleton, he ignored the head which was still seeping blood onto the ground and made his way for the remaining twin. Arya watched as he crouched and it seemed as if he was whispering something to the man. A moment passsed then faster than she could ever imagine someone to move, Eragon stabbed the man through the heart and left Vrangr embedded in the man's flesh.

The sword pulsed once more, repeating the same blood draining process as it did to the other body. Tilting her head slightly, Arya blinked at the satisfied expression on Eragon's face. Averting her eyes, she pursed her lips.

_You should trust him more._

The woman's words reverberated in her mind and in her heart she felt a small bit of shame well up within her at implicitly doubting in Eragon. Whoever the elf was, she was right. Even if she was not deliberately doubting him, she had to reassert her faith in her close friend—the very one whom had kept her company for so many years.

"Are you troubled?" asked Formora quietly as they watched Eragon retrieve Vrangr from the skeleton, the last of the blood disappearing into the sapphire blade.

"I do not know," said Arya honestly, shaking her head.

Rather than belittling her, Formora eyed her. Then she said in a grim voice, "You will get used to it. This is war after all even if there is no battlefield to be fought on."

"I suppose," acknowledged Arya softly feeling rather disconnected from Formora and Eragon. The two of them have no doubt seen horrors beyond her scope of imagination. It wasn't that Arya was naïve to believe that they could win against Galbatorix on ideals alone but it was rather discerning to have to admit that they had to make concessions even if they were morally wrong. "I still have much to learn."

"You will learn," said Formora without any hesitation in her voice. "Then you shall see for yourself how stark reality is."

"What is war to you, Formora?" asked Arya curiously as Eragon sheathed Vrangr with a flourish of his arm.

"A struggle between pride and life," came Formora's answer as her attention was drawn to the elf before them. Arya turned her eyes to Eragon, taking in his blood stained appearance. The front of his tunic and breeches were splattered in blood and she could see some specks on the red liquid on his arms. His expression was calm and collected as if he'd not executed the Twins before him but had rather come from a meeting with Deynor.

_Please take care of Eragon._

When their eyes met, Arya saw a spark of emotion in them but it was gone so quick that she believed she'd imagined it. Unable to find the words to say to him, she remained quiet. As if sensing that she lacked words, Eragon turned his eyes to Formora.

"Did you manage to find anything interesting?" asked Formora as she pushed off from the wall, standing straight.

"No," his words were short and he sounded as if he was distinctly annoyed.

"What will you do now?" Formora was unmoved by his tone and seemed to become even more comfortable with Eragon.

"I shall report to Deynor," said Eragon turning to leave. "As for you Formora, perhaps you should check on your dragon. He has been left unattended for some time now."

"I was planning on doing so," said Formora with a wave of her hand. "I just thought I would come and see you dispose of the garbage Galbatorix had decided to send our way."

Eragon did not say anything but he made a noise of acknowledgement. Then his eyes slid to Arya's once more and for some reason, she felt her heartbeat speed up. Surprised at her own body's reaction to Eragon, she tried to send him a reassuring look. "I apologize if you did not want the company but I, too, had wanted to come and be by your side while you carry out Deynor's orders."

Surprise traveled across both Eragon's and Formora's features but the two of them did not say anything more. Instead, Eragon nodded and spared her a slight smile before leading the way out of the underground prison with Arya and Formora following.

"I had not expected you to feel that way," murmured Formora as Eragon said a quick word to the guards about disposing the skeletons of the Twins as well as the head of the one that Eragon had decapitated.

There were no words for Arya to respond to Formora as they took to the stairs. The feelings had come to her late at night when she was sitting in her study, contemplating the appearance of the Twins. Had she not been quick enough, Eragon would have killed one of them on the spot. It wasn't so much his actions that caused her to stop him but his dark expression that had caused alarm to spread through her.

He was staring at the Twins as if they had done a grievous offense to him. She saw pure hatred on his expression—that combined with fury like none other. And not wanting him to give into those feelings, she stopped him and his response to her actions had thrown her into confusion. He had stared at her as if asking why it was that she'd stopped him. His expression clearly said that Arya, of all people, should be able to understand his feelings.

_He looks capable but he can act childishly sometimes…Be careful not to hurt him._

If only she'd asked that woman more about Eragon, she would've be able to understand Eragon's feelings better. Trying to not let the escaped opportunity bother her, she followed behind Eragon, glancing at Vrangr, which was strapped to his back. Unlike what happened earlier, the sword remained silent. A part of her wanted to ask Eragon if she could possibly take a look at Vrangr but knew that he was reluctant to allow anyone to touch his sword seeing as he himself barely used it. There was also the matter that Vrangr did not liked to be held by others that weren't its master.

But Arya had once held the sword fifteen years ago when she went searching for Eragon after he'd been captured by Darius and taken to Formora's estates in the Empire. Why was that? The questioned plagued her thoughts as they walked in silence up the stairs.

When the three of them emerged from the stairs and into the open corridor, Formora smirked slightly as she turned to leave, curling her fingers in a lazy wave. "Well, I shall see you two some other time…Perhaps when I am bored so that I may have something entertaining to occupy myself with."

With that causally said, she took her leave. Arya watched her go, slightly envious of her apathetic attitude. Formora hadn't changed since she'd officially joined the Varden. She was still arrogant, self-centered, and ruthless—at least to everyone but Eragon.

Unbidden by her, when she thought of the two, the memory of Formora kissing Eragon wormed its way to the forefront of her mind and a strange feeling of irritation rose up within her. In truth, she didn't know what Eragon and Formora's relationship was. They weren't mates that much she knew. While Formora held deep affections for Eragon, his only feelings for her didn't seem any deeper than close friends.

The woman's back flashed in her mind and she felt her brows furrowed. Could she have been Eragon's mate?

"Arya?"

Snapping back to her thoughts, she lifted her head to find Eragon staring at her with a concerned look. Schooling her features, she smiled at him slightly. "I apologize, I was not feeling myself."

"Should you not go rest?" the concern on his features warmed her. He was the one drenched in blood and yet he was asking about her wellbeing.

"No, I am fine," answered Arya.

He nodded, then his eyes darted behind her. "Where are your guards?"

Arya was quick to notice that his expression was rather guarded at the mention of Fäolin and Glenwing. She fought the rising feeling of disappointment within her. Eragon seemed to dislike her guards. Though she was certain that it was because he did not know them well, she did not like how he and Fäolin, particularly, seemed to clash. Whenever the two of them were around each other, they were stiff as boards and very unwelcoming. However, the same could not be said about Eragon and Glenwing. He had no qualms with Glenwing.

"I have left without them," said Arya feeling slightly remorseful. She hoped the two of them were not too worried about her absence this morning. "I wanted to see you without the company of my guards. I believe they…make you uncomfortable?"

Instantly, his expression tightened and Arya mentally sighed at her word choice. "Not uncomfortable," said Eragon eventually. "I feel like a stranger in a stranger's presence…What will you do now, Arya? Will you return to your quarters?"

She thought about it for a long moment and then nodded. She had to see to her duties for the day and there was the matter of Fäolin and Glenwing as well. Though she longed to go with Eragon, she found herself unable to. Once more, she could not help but envy Formora for being able to do as she pleased.

"Then take care," said Eragon turning to leave once more.

It seemed cold to leave on that note. Something in the way he spoke and his expression made her reach out to grab his hand. He paused in surprise. She, herself, was shocked with her own actions but she didn't want him to leave without trying to explain herself first. Trying not to be distracted with his large, warm hand, she sought for words to say.

"I understand how you feel if only slightly," said Arya watching as his eyes widened in surprise. She gently squeezed his hand. "I know there are things beyond my understanding but I hope to be someone you can rely on Eragon. If you let me, I can help, too. I am here for you like you have been for me and nothing has changed that."

He was silent for a long moment and then to her relief a smile broke out on his features. It was a smile that she'd saw when they'd played the ball game together yesterday. He looked carefree and genuinely happy.

"Thank you for your words," he said sincerely giving her hand one more squeeze. Then he withdrew his hand. She felt a slight loss when he broke contact but did not say much about it. When he stared at her, his expression had cleared slightly but there was an emotion in his eyes that made her pause.

He was looking at her as if he believed her words but knew that she herself did not know what it was that she was saying. "Thank you for being at my side this morning," said Eragon as he reached out to brush a strand of her hair out of her face. His brown eyes were shining brightly down at her. "Take care as you attend to your duties, Arya."

With that said, he turned and left. She watched his retreating figure, unable to shake the strange feeling she felt when she caught the emotions in his eyes. When his form disappeared around the corner, Arya sighed and turned to make her way back to her living quarters.

On her walk back to her living quarters, she was greeted with the sight of the members of the Varden waking and going about their daily lives. As she walked, she took a moment to take in the organization that Eragon had helped to build. The people were not weak willed but strong and determined. As she passed by a group of young girls, she couldn't help but feel that Eragon had come far in trying to bridge the relationships between the races. The girls murmured quiet greetings to Arya which she politely returned.

She continued walking, coming across several groups of soldiers as they made their way to the training fields. What were once young and scrawny boys were now tall and sturdy men. They greeted her with smiles and expressions of respect before walking onwards.

It was a silent agreement amongst everyone that it was Eragon that they owed as much as the leader of the Varden and its allies for how far the Varden had come. He had worked harder than anyone to strengthen the Varden in terms of military might and economics.

_But he is leaving soon, _thought Arya as she remembered his announcement the day before. He had been serious about leaving and from the way he spoke, he made it sound as if he did not know when he was going to return. Why was he leaving? She wanted to ask him but when she'd found him in the field a ways away from Tronjheim, she didn't have the heart to ask.

It was like she'd gone back in time and was at Ellesméra, waiting for the time for Eragon to leave to do what he believed he had to do. _He has always had a steel resolve, _thought Arya as she walked. That was what she admired in him. He did what he wanted and when there was opposition he would make it so that there wasn't any through sheer force of will.

If only she could be like him than perhaps her relationship with her mother would not be so strained. Turning into the hidden hallway, she was immediately greeted with the sight of Fäolin and Glenwing. At the expressions of concern on their faces she felt guilty. She had left a note telling them she would be out early morn and for them not to wait for her but it seemed as if they did so anyways.

"Arya," it was Fäolin, his expression was one of worry. "We were worried when you were not in your chambers. Has something come up?"

She shook her head. "No, there was something that I wanted to see with my own eyes."

Fäolin looked like he wanted to say more but Glenwing smiled and nodded in understanding. "Of course. It is only natural to want to be alone every once and a while. You have been part of the Varden for nearly five decades—fighting on your own. It is not strange to have to acquaint yourself with the idea of having guards."

As always, Glenwing was very understanding. She sent a grateful look to the bird lover and motioned towards her chambers. "There are some documents that I have to look over, if you two would like, you are more than welcome to keep me company."

"If that would not bother you," said Fäolin with a slight smile, though she could still see the worry in his eyes.

Entering her chambers, she heard Fäolin and Glenwing follow behind her. Without another word, she made her way to the study, her two guards following her. Unlike Eragon's study, which she'd been in numerous times, her study was much neater. The texts were organized on numerous shelves and the scrolls were neatly stacked upon each other.

She took a seat in the armchair behind the desk and was about to start going through the reports waiting for her, only stopping when Fäolin took a seat in one of the vacant chars in her study, motioning to the glass orb that sat on her desk.

"Is that a gift?" asked Fäolin, his eyes never leaving the white rose that was encased in the glass. She lifted her eyes to the gift that Eragon had given her decades ago. Thinking back on it, the memory felt like a passing dream. So much has happened since then.

"It is," said Arya as Glenwing entered the study holding a tray of mugs. He handed one to Arya and one to Fäolin before taking the last vacant seat in the room. She smiled at Glenwing in gratitude, taking a sip of the steaming green tea. The effects were instant, helping to clear her mind with ease.

"That is a beautiful flower," admired Glenwing as his eyes also caught sight of the glass orb on her desk. "A gift from a friend?"

"Is it from Eragon?" asked Fäolin much to her surprise. Though he wore a smile, his jaw looked tightly clenched. Unsure where this was headed, Arya nodded. She pulled the top report to her, glancing downward to begin reading.

"He gifted it to me long ago," said Arya, her eyes flickering to the rose. She felt a smile tug at her lips at the memory of the first time she'd received a flower. It had been heartwarming and joyful.

Not noticing the look that crossed Fäolin's face, she continued to read the report oftentimes speaking to her guards about anything that came across as interesting. All the while as she thought, she couldn't help but think of the momentarily lapse in consciousness she had when she'd stared at Vrangr as it pulsed.

Turning the report, she thought about the last words the elf had told her. She said it almost as if she knew something that she wanted Arya to know about but could not bring herself to tell her.

_Be careful of who you give your heart to._

**Can you tell that I like playing guessing games with you all? The meaning of the scene that Arya had will be explained further. A lot of readers have wanted to see the Arya from RL and all I can see in regards to her is that she will make an appearance fully in this story. To all the gamers out there, I can't wait for the 27th to come. Watch Dogs! And to the reviewer who was offended by the fact that I haven't played The Last of Us, I shall remedy that soon. In any case, Heavy Rain caught my eye and I'm planning on getting that too. In regards to this chapter though, I just wanted to portray Arya's thoughts and feelings in regards to numerous things. And the quote that Formora says "War is a struggle between life and pride" comes from Code Geass (Cornelia). That quote just stuck with me. In any case, I hope to see you all soon!**

**P.S. After reading a rather critical review, I just wanted to address some things. There was mention of Saphira and I have said that she will appear in this story. It's supposed to take time because I have a span of nearly one hundred years to cover in order to bring her up. As for mentioning her or referencing her, I believe Eragon has mourned his loss of Saphira a lot in the beginning chapters and just because I don't include it in the later chapters such as this one doesn't mean that he doesn't think about her. Also in reference to the rivalry between Eragon and Faolin, in my opinion, even though Eragon is highly experienced, more so than Faolin, that doesn't mean he doesn't have the right to insecurity especially with an Arya that is different from the one he knew. And I have not mention it before but in Eragon's mind there's always a slight hesitancy when it comes to Arya because he's afraid that his actions might end up shifting her personality too much-to the point that he only wants to see Arya as he sees her. He understands that he needs Arya to live life like she would if he wasn't there. Arya has to come to her own decisions at her own pace and he understands this which is way he doesn't interfere with Faolin and Arya. As for Faolin, of course he would see Eragon as a rival. Like the reviewer mentioned, he is very experienced. There's also the matter as to the convergence and what would happen to Eragon when it comes. Basically that's it for my long winded explanation. Like I said, this story is slower paced compared to RL. Things will happen so don't worry. Also, I have played Skyrim so no worries there!**


	43. Chapter 42

**Chapter 42**

**How has everyone been as of late? So father's day is around the corner! I'm in the process of helping my parents renovate their house as a gift to them so I've been busy not only planning for backpacking but also painting walls, moving furniture, and trying to be creative when it comes to interior furniture layouts and all that. Apparently, I have a bad sense of style because I suggested to paint the bedroom walls a medium gray. Oh well. I suppose when I buy a house, I'll paint my walls that color since it's very calming in a way. In any case, I have finally finished this chapter. I will guiltily admit that I only started on this yesterday and finished it today. My brain is scattered all over the place this summer. Sometimes I wish there was more than 24 hours in a day. With that rambling of my personal life out of the way, please enjoy reading this chapter, R&R!**

"Stubborn creature," murmured Eragon as he stood and eyed the brown dragon as it ate the cow that Eragon had asked for the cook to provide. Formora had asked that he take care of her dragon for the day since she was being sent on an errand for Deynor. Lately, the leader of the Varden held some degree of trust in the Forsworn, sending her on missions that Eragon would usually take care of. Perhaps it was Deynor's way of repaying Eragon for his years of devotion to the Varden.

A brown iris rimmed red landed on him and he mentally sighed. Formora's dragon seemed to understand him but could not form a response on the level of a dignified and intelligent creature. Staring at the large dragon, he couldn't help but feel deep sadness for the creature. He could only imagine losing control of his mind and his own identity. After all, he had nearly been consumed by Asura when the seal on his eye was destroyed.

_The Banishing of Names, _thought Eragon as he watched the dragon tear away at the flesh of the dead cow. _What a cruel punishment. And yet so fitting._

The dragons of the Forsworn had forgotten what it meant to be a dragon and had turned on their brethren. It was justice served to have their name and in consequence their identity stripped from them. Yet Formora had turned away from Galbatorix and his rule, defecting to the Varden. Even though it was for purely selfish reasons, she was still a great help to them. Was there no way to reverse the spell?

_Yet, if it is anything as potent as the spells weaved about the Rock of Kuthian…_

He remembered the spiral and entering the tunnel that led to the pit that housed the Eldunarí. There was no way for him to actually reach Vroengard as of yet. A vessel would be ideal but even then that was not a certain solution. The beasts that laid in waiting were dangerous and would sooner devour him, as well as his vessel, before letting him sail to the poisoned island. Only a dragon could take him to Vroengard.

He eyed Formora's dragon. Barely a second passed before Eragon shook his head. He couldn't hope to take Formora's dragon—especially now. Morzan was still alive and Selena actively in his service. Although it had been a year since the Twins' warnings, much tiding have come and gone about the Black Hand that served Morzan. It had given Brom quit the headache as of late as he plotted to kill the remaining Forsworn. The once thirteen was now down to a measly two: Morzan and Enduriel.

The two of them did not bother him in the least. Enduriel, from what Formora said about the rider, was not a Forsworn to be wary of. Meanwhile, Morzan was carrying out his own plans, not in a rush now that he had Selena to serve him. Eragon's mother who was always so kindhearted and prideful was no more than a slavish person to the original Forsworn. He often wondered if a person could change so drastically with time. Then again, he had also changed after joining the Varden.

A loud snap of a bone met his ears and he turned his attention to find Formora's dragon stripping away the last of the meat on the cow before tossing the mess of a skeleton to the side. A satisfied growl left him before he turned his head in Eragon's direction. Large brown eyes bore down on him as well as a fierce expression.

Eragon raised a brow and without any hesitation reached up to pat the dragon on the snout. Rather than attack him, Formora's dragon merely lowered his head to lay on the ground, situating himself after having such a hearty meal.

"I suppose you and your rider share a certain charm if you could call it that," said Eragon idly as he stroked the dragon's snout. When he'd first met Formora's dragon, the creature had snarled at him and snapped his jaw every time he approached it too closely. After several years of visiting the creature and feeding him whenever Formora was busy, the two of them had developed a friendship in a way. It wasn't like how Eragon and Veric were but it was similar.

At the thought of his white Shrrg, his eyes narrowed. Formora had taken the large beast with her on her mission. Not that Eragon was overly attached to the animal, but he enjoyed Veric's company. He'd been Eragon's silent companion for many years now. It was bordering ridiculous how Veric was always in another's company whether it be Arya's or Formora's.

_And he enjoys it as well, _thought Eragon as he knew the white Shrrg enjoyed being with the two elf-maidens. Turning his attention back to the dragon, Eragon patted his snout once more. Both Rider and dragon, though hostile at first, were actually very loyal to those they place their loyalty in.

With one last look at the dragon, Eragon turned and made his way out of the dragon hold, murmuring underneath his breath as he had to take the long winding staircase from the top to the very bottom. It was tedious since he could not simply fly to the bottom. He could easily jump but he didn't want to waste his energy on such a task.

Leisurely walking down the staircase, he contemplated what he should do with his spare time. Arya was busy with her work as elven ambassador and though he wanted to see her, he didn't want to disrupt her duties. A slight smirk made its way onto Eragon's face as he thought of her guards. The two of them were currently away with Formora, helping her on whatever mission that Deynor gave her. Arya had ordered them to assist since they would be doing nothing while she was busy working on her reports and such.

Knowing Formora, she would no doubt make trouble for them. While Eragon was on good terms with Glenwing, his relationship with Fäolin was rather cordial. The two of them worked together often enough but that didn't mean that they had to become friends. A small part of Eragon could not bear to be friends with Fäolin. However, he did have to commend the elf and his contributions at times. With Fäolin as well as Glenwing by Arya's side, he could rest easy when he left the Varden. He had killed the Twins a year ago and had effectively destroyed any means of Galbatorix receiving intelligence about the Varden therefore protecting Arya as he planned to have her become the egg courier once more.

Turning the corner, he stopped when he felt a presence behind him. Turning about, he glanced down the hallway. It was empty apart from him. Frowning, he faced forward once more before he felt as if eyes were boring into his back. His intuition had never failed him before. Not betraying anything, he continued to walk, however, with a different destination in mind. Rather than return to his room, he instead decided to walk aimlessly about the corridors of the Tronjheim.

Whoever it was that was pursuing him, he would lead them to a portion of the marble city that had very little inhabitants. With relaxed steps, he continued walking, assessing the unseen individual that had targeted him. This person was skilled. They knew how to bid their time and they were unlike the overeager assassins that Eragon had dealt with in the past.

Eyes narrowed, he continued to walk further and further away from the city and towards the abandoned halls of Farthen Dûr. It wasn't until he reached a circular chamber with only one exit did he turn to face his pursuer. "You have me cornered, there is no need to hide anymore," said Eragon as his eyes traveled the room, searching for the mysterious person.

His words were answered when a slender figure seemed to appear out of thin air. Had it not been for the fact that he saw the slight ripples of magic, Eragon would have thought differently. His hand reaching for Brisingr, he stopped, his eyes widening slightly in surprise at the young women who stood before him, her brown hair braided about her neck and her matching eyes narrowed and fierce. The beautiful woman before him wore clothes of padded leather, with blackened bracers upon her forearms, and greaves on her shins. At her waist was a sword and dagger.

_Mother…_

Seeing her before him stunned him. Even though he'd been expecting her for the past year, all of his preparations to see her once more fell through. As expected of him, he was always weak-minded when it came to his mother. He swore to protect her and to raise a sword at her now was something he could never do. Scoffing at his stubborn love for his mother, he lowered his hand.

"I had thought that all assassins hid their faces," said Eragon as he watched her intently. He could see a slight bewilderment in her eyes as Eragon did not make a move to defend himself. It was odd that his mother would not hide her own behind a mask of some sort.

Her lips curled downwards at the thought, looking displeased at the suggestion. "Not all assassins hide their faces. When I fight, I am not ashamed of showing my face to my enemy. However, when it is not necessary, I tend to dispatch them in the shadows."

"Are you not worried about your identity being found out?" asked Eragon, raising a brow. He was having trouble talking to his future mother—that was if he was born. Usually, he was always very respectful when it came to Selena but seeing as this person before him wasn't really his mother yet, he did not know how to address her.

"Those who see me do not live long enough to spread word of how I look."

_Confident, _thought Eragon impressed. He expected no less from his mother. He could see why Morzan was so taken with her that he had agreed to let her follow him when he left Carvahall. At the thought of Morzan, he scowled remembering the man that had towered over him as he was chained in Formora's estate long ago. The thought of her taken with such a monster made his stomach turn. If it wasn't for the fact that they had to be together for Murtagh to be born, he would have taken her away from Morzan even if it was against her will.

"So this is the Black Hand that serves Morzan," said Eragon watching as her hand moved towards her sword. His eyes narrowed slightly. He wouldn't draw his own sword against her. Brisingr and Vrangr weren't forged as a means to fight his family. He would just have to defend himself with the use of his hands. "I never would have thought a woman from Carvahall could ever obtain such a position."

Just as he thought, her hand stilled and her eyes widened slightly as his words drifted over to her. No one else but Morzan and possibly Galbatorix knew about the fact that Selena was from Carvahall. All they knew was there was a mysterious woman whom served as Morzan's Black Hand and that was the extent of their knowledge.

"Selena Cadocsdaughter," Eragon's expression hardened as he maintained eye contact with her. The surprise on her face told him that she had not expected him to know who she was. "You were born on a farm in Carvahall. You have an older brother named Garrow. And you would have married a farmer, tanner, or blacksmith had you not met Morzan in the tavern in Carvahall that one day. Am I wrong?"

"How do you know who I am?" asked Selena with a scowl. As her right hand closed around the hilt of her sword. He smiled slightly at the stance she took. She was very prideful. Perhaps he'd inherited that pride as well. He wondered if it was because she couldn't stand living the life of a farmer that led her to leave with Morzan. Had she wanted fame and fortune?

"I have my ways," said Eragon simply. His eyes drifted to her hand which was wrapped about her sword. "I am honored that you would wish to engage me in open combat. I had heard that you dispose of your enemies in the shadows."

"I wanted to fight the elf that has been causing Morzan trouble in open battle," said Selena, her expression one of complete confidence. Eragon was torn between chuckling and sighing. His mother was in for the shock of her life if she were to engage him in battle. He had learned from Galbatorix, what she knew was what he probably knew.

"Then what are you waiting for, the Black Hand of Morzan?" asked Eragon with a raised brow. Her brown eyes gleamed as she eyed him. Then without saying anymore, he watched as she sprung forward. It wasn't so much her speed that took him off guard but it was the fact that she was no longer in his line of vision that surprised him. His mother was not the fastest nor the strongest of warriors but she was intelligent. Her proficiency in the ancient language was what made her a tough enemy.

_Illusionary magic? _The thought crossed his mind as his eyes darted about for his mother.

_Behind me!_

Dodging to the right, he reached out with his hand to grab a slim wrist, coming face to face with Selena. He'd forgotten that she was excellent at manipulating her opponent's senses. His fingers only held her wrist for a few seconds before a shock sent him stumbling backwards

_Again with the unique magic, _Eragon scowled. He possibly couldn't come up with enough wards to guard against every little thing. Shuffling backwards, he had to twist away as her sword came close to slicing his torso open. Fighting would be much easier if he could use his sword but his pride wouldn't let him.

When she made another swipe at him, he clenched his jaw. Backed into a corner, he reached for Vrangr, pulling it from its strap on his back. Rather than drawing his sword, he kept it in its scabbard. Whenever his mother made to swipe at him with her sword, he would withdraw the blade a few inches and deflect the attack on the brightsteel.

Dodging another blow, he could tell that Selena was getting frustrated. To her, his actions must seem as if he was mocking her. Her sword came down once more in a furious slash, with his thumb, he unsheathed his sword by a few inches to let the blades meet.

"Why are you refusing to draw your sword?" asked Selena, the beginnings of pure rage showing through her frustration. "Are you mocking me?"

Being careful not to be too rough in pushing her back, Eragon glared at her. This woman may be his mother in the future but she was still rough in the making of being the person whom he swore to protect. Did she only show any sort of kindness to Morzan? The thought of it made his stomach turn.

"I will not fight you," said Eragon simply, his voice resolute. He raised his eyes to Selena's and with great effort pushed away his affections for his mother. He sheathed Vrangr fully, raising his chin in defiance. "You are merely wasting your energy. You cannot defeat me."

In hindsight, he realized that his prideful words were poor choices in the face of such a situation but it couldn't be helped when he was riled up. He didn't understand what his mother saw in Morzan. What was it about the mismatched eyed man that drew her love? What was it about the cruel servant of Galbatorix's that deserved her loyalty?

Selena held his gaze before she smirked lightly. "Arrogant…You remind me of Morzan."

Those words were enough to anger him. For her of all people to compare the two of them was aggravating. Before he could spew scathing words of his own to her, he instantly clenched his teeth. Instead, he drew in a deep breath and prepared himself for his mother's next attack. It was clear to him that she planned on killing him no matter what. The only way for her to stop was for him to forcibly stop her.

Returning Vrangr into its strap, he bent his knees and raised both hands towards her. The light of the flameless lantern shone on Aren as his eyes strayed to his hands. He turned his gaze towards Selena once more and waited for her to spring forward. She seemed to sway back and forth, as if deciding whether or not she was going to move in on him from the left or right.

He saw the movement of her feet and blinked when she once more disappeared from his sight. Turning to look behind him, he frowned when he could find her. It wasn't until he heard the slight whistle of air did he look up to find her boring down on him. Without another thought, Eragon brought his hand up and met the sharp blade of the sword with Aren, flinching slightly at the intense jarring that traveled from his fingers through his hand and up his arm and back again. Bringing up his other hand, he reached for her wrist ignoring the earlier shock he'd felt and twisted it so that she'd dropped her sword.

_I apologize mother, _said Eragon regretfully as he brought his hand up as quick as lightning and slammed it into her torso, knocking all the wind out of her as well as knocking her unconscious with a blow to the pressure point between the joint of her neck and shoulder.

Catching her as she slumped into his arms, he sighed. In the end, he did have to resort to force. Cradling his mother in his arms, Eragon sighed once more. "Creating such trouble for me…" He stared down at her face and smiled a little. "And you used to say that I was your beloved son."

Shaking his head, he bent and retrieved her sword, sheathing it for her. Being careful not to be too rough with her, he began to retrace his way back to Tronjheim. He didn't really care who saw him with his mother. He could always make an excuse for her. But to his fortune, he didn't come across anyone as he walked through the halls which was a great relief. Quietly entering the hidden hallway where his living quarter was, he let out a breath of relief when the door behind him closed.

Safe in his quarters, he locked the door and made his way to the bedroom. Laying his mother down on the mattress, he frowned at how uncomfortable she looked. The hilt of her sword was pressing against her hip. Reaching down, he slid the dagger and sword from her waist, setting them on the far table in the bedroom. Then he removed her boots as well as her greaves and bracers. Seeing her look slightly more relaxed, he drew the covers over her so that she would be warm.

Without anything else to do, he brought a chair into his bedroom. Sitting down on it, he took a moment to take a look over his mother. For some reason, he couldn't help but feel as if she had not fought with her utmost. Like he was, she seemed to have been holding back. Surely, if her title as the Black Hand was so terrifying, she would have at least landed an injury on him.

Just as he was contemplating the thought, Eragon almost jolted from his seat when he heard the door to his quarters burst open. Standing, he closed the door to his bedroom to find Formora strolling into his living room with a fierce look on her face followed by Veric.

_Such timing, _thought Eragon feeling a headache begin to slowly make its way to the forefront. Trying not to look too irritated, he took a moment to look over Formora. Her hair was damp showing that she'd recently bathed. He saw a bandage wrapped around her left wrist and raised a brow, wondering why it was that she'd yet to heal the injury.

"Formora…" Eragon was about to reprimand her for barging into his quarters uninvited, especially with the door locked and the threshold warded. He was going to have to become creative in order to keep her away it would seem. However, instead of reprimanding her, he decided to leave it for another time. Reprimanding her would only cause for her to stay even longer than necessary. It would be best for him to deal with her and see her off.

Watching her take a seat in one of his armchairs, he took a seat on his couch. "Yes?" asked Eragon, not bothering to greet her properly.

"Here," Formora tossed a few scrolls onto the small table before them. He eyed them, taking note of the green ribbon that was tied about the middle of the rolled up parchments. Before he could say anything, Formora continued speaking, crossing her legs and placing her chin on the palm of her open right hand as she studied him intently. "Deynor ordered me to deliver these to you."

"You are annoyed?" asked Eragon being discreet about glancing at the door of his bedroom. Formora nodded. Then she made a curious expression as she reached into her pocket to pull out a folded letter with a seal on it.

"I was also told to give this to you," she turned the letter over in her hand, eyeing the red seal on the parchment. "This seal belongs to the monarch of Du Weldenvarden, Evandar, does it not? I wonder what he could be writing to you about."

"Hand it over, Formora," said Eragon holding out his hand.

"If you insist," she handed it to him, her eyes full of curiosity as if hoping for Eragon to open the envelope directly before her eyes. Rather than sating her interest, he pocketed the envelope. Then gathering the scrolls on the table, he stood to place the scrolls in his study to view later. He had thought this was a clear dismissal but when he'd returned, Formora was still reclining in his armchair. Her eyes were on Veric though as the white Shrrg paced back and forth before his bedroom door.

"_Veric, lie down," _said Eragon as he resumed his seat. His white Shrrg let out an uneasy whine but did not go against his words. Padding over to Eragon, he curled up in the space at the end of the couch. His ambers eyes were pinned on the door as if refusing to let it out of his sight.

"You look uneasy," observed Formora. "Has something happened?"

"No," said Eragon with a shake of his head. "I have some reports I have yet to go over. They have been on the back of my mind since this afternoon."

"I never knew you were one for laziness," said Formora in a slightly mocking tone. Not annoyed in the least, he tried to think of why else she would not have left after delivering the documents to him. Was it because she wanted to bother him once more? Or was it because she wanted to tell him something else? Unsure of what it was, he decided to stick to a path that he knew was safe.

"How was your mission?" asked Eragon, curious as to what Deynor had ordered Formora to do. He had been absent during the conference at the time since he was preoccupied with the Du Gata Vrangr and had requested to sit out the meeting.

Instantly, a look of utter frustration appeared on her face. "It was a waste of time and effort."

At her disgruntled expression, Eragon was surprised. Usually, Formora would never complain about a task given to her by Deynor. "What happened?"

"Nothing," said Formora, her expression growing even more severe. "Deynor had heard word of a strange character about the halls of Tronjheim and had sent me to search towards the abandoned tunnels leading to one of the dwarves' long forgotten city, Orthíad."

"Did you manage to find this person?"

"No, there was nothing there to look for," Formora nodded towards Veric. "I had asked you to let me borrow Veric because I had thought he would have been able to possibly sniff out anything strange. Not even his nose has managed to catch anything suspicious."

"Perhaps it was nothing to chase after, it could be just someone's imagination," said Eragon not seeing the point as to why Formora was so upset.

"Deynor has reason to believe that it was the Black Hand," said Formora in a serious voice. Eragon tensed at the mention of his mother. With all of his might, he refused to glance towards the door of his bedroom. If Formora found out that he was harboring a Forsworn, she would not be friendly about the matter.

Trying to be inconspicuous, he made an interested expression. "Why does he have reason to believe that it is the Black Hand?" asked Eragon coolly.

"He did not say," said Formora with a slight shrug.

"I see," Eragon eyed the Forsworn. "And you are upset because you let the Black Hand elude you? Have you something against this person?"

"Against the Black Hand?" said Formora. She laughed lightly and smirked at Eragon. "I have nothing against this person. In fact, this Black Hand impresses me somewhat. I have never heard as many terrifying words to describe one person apart from Galbatorix and his Forsworn before…However, the fact that they serve Morzan makes them my enemy. They have such horrid taste for a master."

Eragon's lips thinned. He hoped his mother did not hear Formora's words. From what he could tell, she could easily kill someone for insulting Morzan. Going over Formora's words, he felt curiosity well up within him.

"Do you have something against Morzan?" asked Eragon unable to keep the interest out of his voice.

"In particular?" asked Formora. At her question, Eragon tilted his head to show that he did not really care for anything that she thought of Morzan. "He is arrogant, subservient to Galbatorix, and pathetic in general. There is nothing to like about him."

"You do not like arrogant men, do you?" commented Eragon wryly, thinking of how she had thought of Darius when he was still alive.

"It can be appealing on certain people," said Formora without any hint of embarrassment.

Seeing their conversation move onto such a topic, he decided to close it there. "Formora, I still have work to do," said Eragon, this time actually dismissing her. She made a gesture with her hand as if to tell him to carry on, then with unnatural grace, rose from the armchair.

"I shall leave for the day," said Formora without much resistance.

"If you are not busy, could you possibly ask Angela to come to my quarters? There is something I would like to speak to her about," said Eragon, then he thought about his words. "And could you send word for some food to be brought up to my chambers as well?"

Half expecting her to refuse, he smiled slightly when she raised a brow before laughing lightly. "You have some brazen audacity to command me to do such slavish work." With a slight nod, she was gone, closing the door behind her. Shaking off the tenseness that settled over him, he stood and made his way to the bedroom with Veric hot on his heels. Opening the door, he was relieved to find that Selena was still asleep. He had thought that she would have awakened when he was speaking with Formora but that wasn't the case in the least.

Rather than resuming his seat beside Selena, he instead began to pace about the bedroom. He wasn't going to kill his mother that much was obvious. But he had to help her escape from the Varden. Staying here would only ensure her death either by Formora or by the other capable warriors of the Varden. Rubbing his temples to soothe his sudden headache, he continued to pace trying to think of a solution to his problem. What could he possibly do?

He wasn't sure how much time he spent pacing but when he heard a knock on his door, he opened it to find Angela standing before him wearing a displeased look and carrying a tray that held an assortment of dishes of food. Without saying anything, she thrust the tray into his hand and entered his chambers. She was alone to his gratitude.

"Do not mistake me," said Angela with a raised brow in his direction. "I came because I knew that whatever it is that you wanted to speak to me about is important since you sent Formora to pass the word along. However, Eragon—"

"You do not come and go as anyone but yourself pleases," finished Eragon setting the tray down on the living room table. He made sure to close his door and check the wards about the door and walls to keep anyone from hearing in on their conversation.

Seeing his cautious expression, Angela quickly became serious. "What is it? Has something happened?" When he didn't answer her immediately, she began to sprout theory after theory. "Has someone found out about your identity? Is it the Forsworn and Galbatorix? Or perhaps someone from your original Alagaësia is here and they are after your blood?"

"Angela," said Eragon after he was done checking the last wall, he sent her a dark look that told her that it was best she stopped talking about his true past. Understanding his silent communication, Angela fell silent. Glad that she had stopped with her ridiculous idea, he gestured towards his bedroom door. "I need your help."

She nodded, her hand disappearing into her clothes to grip an unseen weapon. Moving forward, he gestured for her to follow behind him. When they stood directly before the door, Eragon took a deep breath and opened the door for her to see in. The moment her eyes landed on Selena in Eragon's bed, all seriousness left her face and she turned to him giving him quite the glare.

"If you are jesting, Eragon, this is in ill taste," with that said she made her way to leave only to be stopped by Eragon's following retort.

"That woman is Morzan's Black Hand," said Eragon quietly afraid of speaking too loudly in case he would wake his mother due to the loudness of his voice. Angela, who was originally on her way to leave, immediately stopped in her tracks. Faster than he could keep track of, she was inside his bedroom and by Selena's bedside, staring down at her with interest.

"This is the feared Black Hand?" asked Angela in surprise. "This young woman?"

She pointed down at Selena. Eragon raised a brow. "It is rude to point," he said more for Angela's benefit than his mother's. He was slightly worried that Selena may curse Angela for being so rude. Though his mother was born as the daughter to a farmer, she held herself with pride and dignity, almost similar to a noble.

"How did you come across her?" asked Angela, straightening to turn her attention to Eragon.

He motioned for her to follow him outside the room. Keeping the door open so that he could see his mother out the corner of his eyes, he began to explain to her how Selena had tried to assassinate him and how he had knocked her unconscious.

"That easily?" Angela looked fairly surprised as she took in Eragon's whole appearance. She pursed her lips as if finding it hard that Selena had not left her mark on him with her blade.

"I am sorry to disappoint you," said Eragon dryly.

Angela smiled at him. "No need to sound so hurt," then with confusion laced in her tone, she continued to speak. "I understand that this person is the Black Hand…However, how come she is asleep in your bed? More importantly, why did you not take her to Deynor to have her dealt with?"

"I cannot do that to her of all people," said Eragon shaking his head. He gave Angela a hard look. "You cannot tell anyone about her Angela."

"Eragon, this may or may not be a surprise to you but she is our enemy," said Angela. She thought about her words for a moment before correcting herself. "Well, loosely she is my enemy. In any case, she is the Varden's enemy and you have devoted your life to building up the Varden, or have you forgotten?"

"I have not," said Eragon fiercely, then he lowered her voice. "The fact stands Angela that I cannot do her any harm."

"And why not?"

He took a moment to gather his thoughts. Angela had always been his ally during his time with the Varden. She had never gone against him and she had always helped him when he needed her help. Telling her would not only wipe the suspicious look from her face but it would also give himself another ally in regards to Selena.

"I cannot harm her because she is my mother," said Eragon in a low voice watching as Angela's brows disappeared into her hairline and her mouth open but no words escaping. He'd expected as much from her. He watched as her eyes began to dart between him and his unconscious mother as if trying to picture the resemblance. He could practically hear the gears turn as she processed the information.

"No—"

"Yes," said Eragon aggravated at her denial. He sighed and tried to find an adequate way to explain this to her without giving away too much. "My mother was Morzan's Black Hand, however, she fell out of love with him and instead began to help the Varden through another source and eventually had me. I am not lying, Angela."

The herbalist blinked a few times before she began to slowly nod. "This information is rather hard to accommodate," said Angela slowly for once caught off guard.

"I will let that insult pass," said Eragon disgruntled at the fact that Angela could not see the resemblance between mother and son. He moved back into the living room and picked up the tray that he had set down before, carrying it into his bedroom. He set it onto his bedside table and reached down to tuck the sheets in more firmly to keep his mother warm.

Returning to Angela, he ran a hand through is hair. "I do not know what to do now. I can only pray that she will not attack me when she wakes."

"I think," Angela began with a thoughtful look, "That she will not attack you. From what you told me, perhaps she had lost her will to fight you. If she was truly intent on killing you, it would have certainly shown."

"Do you think so?"

"From what I have heard of her reputation as well as what you have told me, I would say that it is plausible," said Angela simply. "However, why did you need to call me here for?"

"I need your help when she wakes," said Eragon simply. "I do not know how to deal with a…younger version of my mother. She has come to you before in the other Alagaësia."

"She has?"

"Yes, you told her fortune to her," said Eragon with a nod, watching as a gleam entered Angela's eyes. "At least that was what she told me of her encounter with you."

"Interesting," said Angela with a slightly odd look on her face. "Your plan now is to help her escape the Varden without being detected, is that correct?"

"It is."

"I do not think that will be a hard problem," said Angela. "If she had managed to infiltrate the Varden without raising any alarms, she will be able to leave as well."

At Angela's words, Eragon frowned. He had neglected to mention that Deynor did know about Selena's presence about the Varden. He was being careful though. In order to lull Selena into a false sense of security he had not asked Eragon to seek out the Black Hand but had asked Formora to do so instead, knowing fully well that the sight of Formora wandering about on her own would not be questioned by anyone.

_I can only hope you are correct, Angela, _thought Eragon with one last look at his sleeping mother.

**A few key elements in this story will be described later on, especially how Eragon could have beaten Selena without much difficulty. It was just too long to write in this chapter. Also, I have many elements to wrap together so I hope you can all wait till then. Some mentioned that Aren had a sapphire rather than a ruby (they also messaged me? I can't remember) and I'm sorry for mixing up such a fact. I would go back and fix it but I don't really know where I've described it in this story so I'll leave it as a ruby in TMF. Father's day is around the corner everyone! Have you treated your fathers yet? I don't have much to say really so I hope I see you all soon.**


	44. Chapter 43

**Chapter 43**

**How is everyone? So I just finished painting my house and I'm dead tired. And now, I have to help paint the exterior of my house. **Sigh...In** any case, I decided to do some number crunches in this A/N. I've been looking over TMF and compiling the timeline. The timeline in TMF starts at 7902 AC (when Eragon appears in the other Alagaesia). So far, 77 years has passed since then making it now 7979 AC. In three more years, Murtagh will be born as he is born in the year 7982 AC. So far in the story, Eragon is 94 years old and Arya is 80 years old. I'm not sure how I managed to do it but the timeline flows because in 22 more years, Arya will be 102 and **_**Eragon **_**starts in the year 8001 AC. It took me a while to crunch the numbers but I'm glad that it seems somewhat legit. Also, Eragon has known Arya for 65 years now and has been part of the Varden for 56 years and Arya has been with the Varden for 46 years. So that's the number scheme for the timeline so far if anyone was wondering. This also means that convergence is going to come up soon. So please wait until then! In any case, have fun reading everyone, R&R!**

With a look of utmost concentration, Eragon studied the table before him. Angela had decided to help him occupy his time by challenging him to a game of runes. He never liked playing Angela in anything. The herbalist did not have any inhibitions when it came to cheating. That was why one could never be too careful about turning their attention away from a game that involved the witch. While they played, a light conversation took place between the two of them with Eragon being careful not to become distracted.

"Will you be returning to Ellesméra this summer?" asked Angela as she moved her rune. Eragon's brows furrowed. In all honesty, he had given little thought to returning to Ellesméra for the summer. He just didn't have the time. There was much for him to deal with before he took his leave from the Varden.

"I have not given it much thought," answered Eragon, contemplating the next move he should make. In a game such as runes, it was always safe to remain ahead of the opponent by one step. He was trying to find an opening that could possibly give him an advantage over Angela. "In the summer, a feast is held and the elves celebrate the coming of the season. It is nothing that I have yet to see."

That was the truth of the matter. He had seen the festivities that came with summer in Du Weldenvarden before. Many years ago, on a trip back to Ellesméra with Arya, the two of them had together attended the festival much like they did the winter festival when Eragon and Arya had first met in this Alagaësia. There was much merriment, which was only marred at the sight of Arya and her mother at a standstill. And as much as the king wanted to help remedy the situation between mother and daughter, Evandar only seemed to put himself in awkward situations between the two. He was a loving father but he was also a loving mate. Eragon frowned slightly as he remembered putting his mother in the same position as King Evandar.

"Still, a change of scenery every once and a while will be pleasant for the mind," said Angela, then she raised a brow. "Are you going to make a move, Eragon?"

"Give me a moment," Eragon retorted shortly. From the way the runes were laid out before him, he felt as if Angela had cornered him. He wasn't sure but his intuition told him that he'd lost the game already. A crease appearing between his brows, he sat back and said in a bored tone of voice. "Let us call this game a draw."

"A draw?" repeated Angela outraged at his refusal to continue playing. "This is certainly not a draw!"

Refusing to argue with her, he shot her a look that told her to keep her voice down. A few feet away from them the bedroom door was left ajar. From where Eragon sat, he could clearly see into the room as well as the person who laid asleep on his bed. At his warning, Angela gave him a mutinous look. With a clean swipe of her hand, she swept the runes into a velvet pouch and pocketed it.

As he shifted in his seat, Eragon suddenly remembered the documents that Formora had delivered to him earlier. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the envelope with the red seal of King Evandar's stamped on it. Neatly opening the envelope, he pulled the folded letter out as Angela drew a ball of yarn and six needles out to begin knitting.

_My friend Eragon,_

_I hope you are well in receiving my missive. Do not worry, nothing has gone awry. I merely write to you to explain to you the ongoing events in Ellesméra. You have not been back since Formora had decided to join the Varden, which I do not hold fault to you for doing so. Formora has a tenacious character and must be kept within line at all times. Due to your lack of return, I have taken it upon myself to ask Oromis— elda to compile a report on the progress he has had with the Eldunarí. I see them regularly and am heartened at their steady recovery._

The missive continued with King Evandar explaining how Oromis and Glaedr were making great strides with the Eldunarí and how in perhaps another year or so, the Eldunarí would be able to communicate to them. Ignoring the surprise that welled up within him, Eragon continued reading the last part of the missive.

_How has Arya been lately, Eragon? During her returns, I have little chances to speak with her. It cannot only be attributed to the strife between her and her mother but Arya is a young maiden who is beginning to see the world outside of her duties and her family. She has taken to Black Morning Glories as of late. I can only wonder as to the symbolism behind such flowers. Please take care of my daughter as well as yourself, friend. I know I ask much but I have heard that you are to soon leave the Varden. I would like to ask if you could once more return to Ellesméra so that we may speak face to face. Rhunön-elda is also expecting to see you. In the meantime, take care._

_Evandar Könungr_

Folding the missive, he reached up to run his hand through his hair annoyed not at the missive but rather at what the king had told him. He was running out of time and rapidly. If Oromis managed to help the Eldunarí recover, he was afraid that they might tell the elf king about the three eggs and the secret tunnel leading into Urû'baen. If that happened and Hefring was sent to steal the eggs once more, they would be at a distinct disadvantage. Hefring had only managed to steal Thorn's egg due to his fear after noticing the mental presence of Umaroth and his companions. Eragon had to be the one to steal the eggs.

He knew Galbatorix and understood the layout of the city of Urû'baen as well as the traps that laid within the citadel. He could easily sneak in and steal the three eggs with ease. Pocketing the missive once more, his mind began to wander towards the more conversational end of the missive. Evandar spoke of Arya and had commented on his daughter as being a young maiden. He had also said that she was taken with Black Morning Glories. A scowl found its way onto Eragon's features. He could only assume that Evandar was hinting towards a possible relationship between Arya and Fäolin. After all, Eragon did not spend as much time with Arya as Fäolin did nowadays.

He'd been busy preparing day and night for his eventual absence from the Varden. He simply didn't have the luxury of spending time with Arya, who was also busy with her own duties. He smiled somewhat bitterly. He barely felt as if any time had passed and yet he was nearing a century years old. Waking up each day and seeing his reflection in a mirror made him realize how timeless he was.

_I have known Arya for nearly seven decades now, _thought Eragon remembering all of the times he'd spent with the elven princess in those years. Thinking about his Arya, he could only hope that in his original Alagaësia that she was living well. As the thought crossed his mind, he was grateful for the distraction that came from the direction of his bedroom. There was a rustling of the bedclothes alerting both Eragon and Angela that Selena was awake.

Moving to his feet, he nodded to the herbalist who had lowered her knitting tools. Entering his bedroom, his eyes darted over Selena. She was sitting upright in his bed, looking around the room in slight surprise as if expecting to wake up in a dungeon. Eragon took a seat in the chair by the small table against the opposite side of the bed.

"How are you feeling?" asked Eragon cautiously. He knew for a fact that Selena was unarmed. He had unarmed her when he had set her in his bed to rest. Her weapons were currently lying on the table beside him. The only way for her to attack him was to do so by using magic. Though he was tempted to drug her, he decided against it. The thought didn't sit well with him.

"Where am I?" asked Selena as Angela entered the room.

"My quarters," said Eragon. He gestured to the tray of food that he'd placed on the bedside table. "Angela was kind enough to bring food for you to eat."

"Angela?" Selena made no move to reach for the tray of food. Instead, she eyed Angela with suspicion.

"That would be me," said Angela in greeting. She took a seat opposite of Eragon, joining him in watching Selena. When neither Eragon nor Selena made a move to talk, the witch lightly cleared her throat. "The food is not drugged, rest assured. Do not be afraid to eat it."

"How can I trust you?" asked Selena as Veric slinked into the room. The large beast padded over to the bed where his mother laid and Eragon watched as the Shrrg lifted his head to sniff the young woman. Selena tensed at the closeness of such a large animal. Then with a hesitant movement of her hand, reached over to stroke Veric on his head. A low rumble left Veric as the white Shrrg leaned into her touch.

"A pet?" asked Selena as she glanced at Eragon, looking like she was trying her best not to smile at Veric.

"A companion," said Eragon simply as he eyed Veric. He was beginning to think that the Shrrg held some charm that instantly drew beautiful women to him. After watching the two, Eragon called for Veric. His Shrrg companion withdrew from Selena's side and obediently made his way over to Eragon, curling in on himself by his feet.

He fell silent once more feeling awkward at the sight of his young mother who had been intent on killing him earlier. His eyes darted to Angela. As their eyes made contact, he tilted his head to tell her to say something. He didn't know what to do.

"Please eat, Selena," said Angela gesturing to the tray of food. Her eyes darted to Eragon and she smirked slightly. "After all, Eragon here is worried about your health."

His eyes widened slightly at being ousted by Angela. Taming his expression once more, he averted his eyes from Selena. Despite no longer looking at her directly, he did not have a problem catching sight of her from the corner of his eyes. She had picked up the tray of food that he'd asked for earlier and began to eat, tentatively at first and then with more feeling. He'd expected much.

"You must be tired from all the traveling," said Eragon as he turned his head to pin his stare on her once more. The atmosphere was still rather tensed but he could see Selena slowly easing up as if realizing for the first time that he was not her enemy. "The Varden is a far cry from Morzan's estates."

She twirled the handle of the spoon about her slim fingers as she eyed Eragon. "How do you know so much about me?" asked Selena cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

He shifted in his seat. He wasn't going to tell her the truth about himself. The possibility of her reporting everything that happened here to Morzan was too great a risk. Instead, he decided to ignore her question and continued speaking. "I had been expecting you for some time. I apologize for the lack of hospitality."

"Are you mocking me?" asked Selena, her hand stilling.

Eragon lifted a hand to cover his mouth a serious expression forming on his features. He hadn't meant to sound so belittling. It was just the way he was. As if sensing his mood, Angela decided to smooth out whatever offense Eragon's last comment had caused.

"In any case, you need to eat to regain your strength. It is a far travel back to the Empire," said Angela, trying to encourage Selena to eat the food. Her words did the opposite. Rather than reassure Selena, the Black Hand narrowed her brown eyes at them.

"What is that you are planning?" the question was aimed more at Eragon than Angela.

"I am not planning anything," said Eragon trying his best to remain respectful. He could tell that Selena didn't believe his words in the slightest. Trying to find a way to answer her, he began searching for the right words that would convince her that he wasn't going to harm her.

"No matter what Morzan tells you," Eragon began seriously as he lowered his hand from his mouth, the words carefully leaving his lips. "I am not your enemy and you are not my enemy. I understand that you wish to do his bidding out of the love you have for him…Apart from that, I believe that it does not give me a good enough reason to fight you nor for you to fight me."

"So long as you remain a problem for Morzan, you are my enemy," said Selena. Even though her tone had an edge to it, he saw right through her. Eragon understood his mother. He knew her heart and he knew from looking at her that she wasn't entirely certain of fighting him anymore.

"Whether or not you believe that can be left for another time," said Eragon as he began to tap his fingers on the table, taking notice of Selena's weapons that laid before him. "We still have the matter of helping you leave the Varden."

"It should be simple enough," said Angela entirely too at ease.

Eragon scoffed, his eyes darting to the witch. "Deynor knows that the Black Hand has managed to infiltrate the Varden. He had sent Formora as well as Arya's guards looking for her. We are fortunate that Formora did not get the chance to find her whereabouts."

"I am not afraid her," said Selena stiffly. From the tenseness that had settled about her shoulders, Eragon had a feeling that he had once more insulted her. His jaw twitched as he thought of what more to say. Clearly, nothing that left his mouth seemed to go over well with the Black Hand.

Momentarily deciding to ignore Selena, Eragon turned his attention to Angela once more. "There is a feast being held today in Hrothgar's honor—to celebrate his rule over the dwarf clans. That would be our most opportune time to have her escape notice. Security will be centered on the celebration more so than Farthen Dûr as a whole."

"It sounds fitting enough," said Angela with a nod.

He turned his eyes back to Selena. "Will you comply with the plan?" It would be tedious if his mother decided not to follow such a simple solution. He was half expecting her to reject his advice out of either pride or something else, but to his surprise, she simply nodded.

For the longest moment, Eragon was reminiscent of the time that he had spent nursing Arya back to health the first time he'd met her. She had been just as prideful and stubborn as Selena was being at the moment. The memory made him smile in nostalgia. History had a certain way of repeating itself even if it wasn't as he'd remembered it.

"Angela, you will see that she makes it to the western gate of the Varden," said Eragon as his mind began to construct the rest of the plan. "I have to be present for the celebration since Hrothgar has invited me. However, I will make my way to you once I have dealt with the pleasantries. No one expects me to stay long."

"I suppose I can do this much for you," said Angela her expression clearly telling Eragon that he was now in her debt for what she was doing for Selena. No doubt she was going to hand him a list of things that she needed for him to retrieve for her once more. Before he could say anything else, Angela stood. "Well, there is something that I need to fetch from my quarters. I will return in a moment. You two enjoy yourselves now."

With that said, Angela swept from the room, her short frame disappearing from sight. With her gone, an intense awkwardness settled over them for many reasons. Eragon could only see the young woman in front of him as his mother, Black Hand or not. Meanwhile, Selena could only see Eragon as her enemy as he was the person who had killed several of the Forsworn.

_Morzan must think that I am going to target him next, _thought Eragon with slightly narrowed eyes. He smirked slightly. His father was going to kill Morzan. Eragon had complete faith in Brom. Morzan had manipulated Brom when he was younger and had committed the ultimate act of betrayal amongst Dragon Riders. But in the end, it would be Brom who triumphed over Morzan. Brom had garnered Selena's love and eventually killed Morzan.

Sitting there for a long moment, he merely watched as Selena continued eating, ignoring his presence. He was content to remain silent but was surprised when his mother began to speak.

"Why did you not fight me?" asked Selena, her fingers were pulling apart the loaf of bread in her hands, breaking it into smaller pieces though she made no move to eat them. Eragon thought about her question for a few seconds.

"You reminded me of someone," said Eragon eventually. When her brown eyes—his eyes—flickered to meet his, he sighed. "Long ago, I knew someone who was like you. She loved and fought for love but went about it just like you are doing now."

"She wanted to kill you as well?" Selena raised a brow in sudden interest.

Eragon frowned at her. "No, she did not…You do not realize it yet but your love for Morzan has blinded you," said Eragon simply, watching as a crossed look travel across his mother's features. Frustration peaked in him as he once more unintentionally insulted her by insulting Morzan. Had she always been so sensitive? He was about to ask her only to stop himself. No, he couldn't ask her that else he would offend her.

"What would you know about love?" challenged Selena.

"Enough," was Eragon's only reply to her. He was nearly a century years old while his mother was barely in her second decade. There was much left for her to learn. He stared at her and felt slightly strange at the thought of his beautiful, young mother falling in love with Brom, who was also nearing a century years old.

_Love knows no age boundary, _thought Eragon as he thought of the age difference between him and Arya. His eyes darted to his armor which was on display in the corner of his room. Eyes drifting to the helm, he felt himself smile.

"You were very reluctant to use your blades against me," said Selena snapping him out of his thoughts. So, she'd noticed his reluctance. Her eyes darted to Vrangr which rested on his back. "What is a sword when you do not use it?"

"This sword," said Eragon motioning to Vrangr, "was forged by someone who I hold dear in my heart. She gave it to me as a means to protect myself but not as a weapon to necessarily kill…When you love someone, you do not kill for them but rather you protect them."

"It is a fine line, what you are saying," murmured Selena as she ate a piece of her bread. Eragon lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug. He couldn't expect Selena to understand love when she was blinded by her devotion to Morzan. She will only come to understand that her feelings for the Forsworn was wasted once Murtagh was born.

Not wanting to argue with her, he sat there waiting for Angela's return. What was it that the witch needed to get? After a long moment of silence, Eragon spoke, his curiosity getting the better of him. "What was it that made you decide to follow Morzan? I have met him before and do not see anything apart from a monster in the Forsworn."

"You would not understand," said Selena, her gaze trained on the wall behind Eragon as she finished the last of her bread. Setting the tray on the bedside table, she pulled the blanket over herself as if to hide from Eragon. A long moment of silence passed before she elaborated. "It is as you said. My name is Selena. I was born and raised on a farm on the outskirts of Carvahall. It is a rundown town with a meager population. Had I stayed I would have wedded one of the few men in Carvahall. I did not wish to live such a life—a life devoid of self-purpose and ambition."

"And when you saw Morzan, you saw an opportunity?" asked Eragon.

Selena gave him a wry smile. "I saw enough," she said softly. "Say what you will about me but I will follow him to the ends of Alagaësia if need be. I will not betray him."

Eragon fought a chuckle. _So you say, _thought Eragon, his thoughts a combination of amusement and empathy. He understood, now, a reason why his mother was so taken with Morzan. He was her escape from the dull life of Carvahall where she would do exactly as she said. Had she'd not met the Forsworn, she would have eventually marry a son from one of the families in Carvahall and continue living the rest of her life in the isolated village. It was almost dignified, the reason why she had fallen in love with Morzan.

"If you believe in your love for him that strongly, I will not say anything," said Eragon eventually.

He heard the door to his quarters open and before he could do anything else, Angela entered his bedroom once more with a bright smile. Seeing her back, Eragon stood. It was about time he went and entertained Hrothgar at his banquet.

"When night falls, I shall meet you at the west entrance of Farthen Dûr by the abandoned library," said Eragon facing the curly haired woman.

"You are going to let me go? Knowing that I was ordered to kill you?" asked Selena, her expression telling him that she did not believe he was truly going to let her go.

"I am not your enemy," said Eragon once more. "For now, rest up for the journey back to the Empire. Angela will keep you company."

With that said, he left the bedroom, giving Angela a warning look. Commanding Veric to stay put, he exited his chambers sighing as he did so. Standing still, he tried to rearrange his thoughts. It was difficult to let his mother leave and return to Morzan's side but it had to be done. Pushing the morbid thoughts from his mind, he walked across the hall and hopefully knock on Arya's door.

His heart felt considerably lighter when the door opened to reveal Arya. He opened his mouth to greet her but stopped as a shock ran through him. Though she was clothed in her black leather outfit, her skin and hair was slightly damp.

"Eragon," she smiled at him in greeting. "Good evening."

"Good evening," he replied somewhat belatedly. From what he could tell she'd recently bathed. He knew for a fact that Arya had been invited to the banquet since she was the elven ambassador. "Would you like to accompany me to the banquet tonight?"

For some reason, his request sounded rather boyish. Fighting a frown at how young he sounded, he blinked when Arya nodded. She gestured for him to enter her quarters, saying that she had to ready herself. He was about to tell her that she looked beautiful enough to attend the banquet but stopped short.

Watching as she disappeared into her bedroom, he took a moment to look about her quarters. In truth, he'd never stepped foot in Arya's living chambers. It looked like his but was neater and seemed to just have her touch on everything. Wandering over to her study, he peered in. Unsurprisingly, her desk held a stack of reports and scrolls for her to go through. His eyes darted to the corner causing him to smile. On a stand was a glass orb and encased inside was a white rose.

_She kept it with her, _thought Eragon rather pleased. Then remembering Evandar's words in the missive, his pleasant mood evaporated. Returning to her living room, he took a seat on her couch. Fäolin and Glenwing were nowhere to be seen. He could only hope that they were busy. It had been quite a while since he'd been alone with Arya.

_My time here is soon going to come to a close, _thought Eragon as he heard light footsteps in his direction. Turning his head, he smiled at the sight of Arya. She looked no different than before. The only change was the exception of her sword which was on her right hip.

He stood as if to receive her. The two of them exited her quarters together. Exiting the hidden hallway, they began to walk towards the heart of Tronjheim where the banquet was going to be held.

"How have you been lately?" asked Eragon. Between all of his duties, he scarcely saw Arya anymore.

"Busy but well," answered Arya, her emerald eyes were bright as she stared up at him. "What of you, Eragon? How have you been lately?"

"No different than usual," said Eragon truthfully. He omitted the fact that he was currently harboring the Black Hand. In all truthfulness, he didn't know how Arya would react if she heard word of his association with the Black Hand. The smell of crushed pine needles momentarily surrounded him causing him to have a difficult time focusing his mind. "Where are your guards?"

"They are about doing what they please," said Arya, their footsteps quietly echoing about them in the great halls of Farthen Dûr. "They do not always follow me. Whenever I deem that I have no need of guards, I give them a temporary leave of absence."

"I see," satisfied that it was merely him and Arya, Eragon's mood was uplifted considerably.

As they neared the heart of Tronjheim, he stopped when Arya's voice called out to him once more. The two of them had been walking in comfortable silence for some time and to hear the serious tone in which she said his name made him cautious. He turned about to face her, noting that her red lips were curved downwards.

"What is it?" asked Eragon, his tone also serious. As concentrated as he was on Arya, he was also well aware that the two of them were out in the open. His eyes flickered about, cautious of the shadows that clung to the walls.

"Is the time for you to leave almost upon us?" Her expression appeared conflicted. She look torn between wanting an answer from him and believing that she'd overstepped her bounds. Seeing such, Eragon's smile was soft.

"No, not yet," he held her gaze. "It is not but for a few more years. Do not worry, when the time comes I will make sure to say my farewells."

"Is it something that only you can do?" asked Arya with a frown. "Why not ask the Varden for help?"

"Arya," he said her name softly as he reached forward for her, placing one hand on her shoulder. "If the Varden could help, I would not hesitate to ask. But this task is something I can do and only I can accomplish it without fail." He thought of Hefring and how the thief had completely turned tail and ran with Thorn's egg and not Eridor's as well.

Her lips pursed before she spoke, her words slightly hesitant. "If I could be of any help, please do not be afraid to ask it of me. We are friends, Eragon. It is unfair that you have always been by my side to help me and I have never been able to repay you."

"When I am done with what I have to do," said Eragon, gently squeezing her shoulder, "There is a task that only you can do for me, Arya." He reached forward with his free hand and brushed a strand of hair from her face. Then with a boldness he did not know he had, he curved his hand about the side of her face, marveling at how soft her skin was and the high curve of her cheekbones. "Until then, please wait for a moment longer."

Her lips parted, causing her soft breath to caress his skin. "The notion of you leaving the Varden unsettles me slightly. Amongst this entire organization, you are the only person to have remained by my side for so many decades…It will be a strange day when I no longer see you about the halls of Farthen Dûr."

"You will be fine," Eragon reassured her. If he could stay by her side he would but his time was coming to an end with her and he knew that in eventuality that the Eragon born to this Alagaësia would be the one to stand beside Arya in the future. "You are Arya Dröttningu."

There was a flash of emotion in her eyes as she nodded, a soft smile forming on her lips. With one last caress of her skin with his thumb, he withdrew his hands and gestured down the hallway. "Let us go, Arya."

The two of them continued together towards the banquet. Traversing several hallways, the moment they stepped into the large kitchen area of Tronjheim, Eragon was not surprised to find a rowdy crowd of dwarves and humans all congregated together, singing, laughing, and dancing to their hearts content. He even caught sight of Rosalie conversing amongst a group of dwarves, her red hair distinct in the crowd. On a raised platform that stood above the rest sat a long table that seated King Hrothgar, Orik, Deynor, and a few others.

"Eragon! You have made it!" It was Orik who had greeted him with a loud laugh and a heavy pat on the back.

"It would seem as if the festivities has started without us," commented Eragon as he and Arya took a seat beside Orik after greeting Hrothgar. He accepted a large tankard of mead from Orik, freely drinking the sweet liquid. He could remember a time when Thorn had become drunk from drinking barrels upon barrels of mead. Eragon hid his amused smile behind his tankard as Orik handed Arya a tankard as well.

The elven princess took a moment to study the amber liquid before she took a long drink much to his surprise. "The merriment has only begun," said Orik with a rough grin as he stroked his beard. "And it will last until early morn."

"Not all of the dwarves are in attendance," said Eragon as his eyes darted about the large open area filled with long tables and bustling bodies. Not far off, he caught a glimpse of two dwarves dancing together atop one table, happily singing in their rough language.

"Regardless, celebration is held all across the Beor Mountains in honor of King Hrothgar and his rule and not just here in Tronjheim," said Orik, as he made a toast with one of his companions. Eragon raised a brow, taking another drink of his mead, savoring the taste. It was not often that he allowed himself to relax but with Arya by his side and the laughter and singing that filled his ears, he felt the tension leave his body. It was almost as if his mind had forgotten about the fact that he still had the matter of his mother to deal with.

"Do you like the taste of the mead?" asked Eragon as he turned away from his conversation with Orik, allowing the dwarf to find another companion to speak with. Arya was watching the entire celebration with interested eyes, her tankard almost empty. Eragon had already finished his first one long ago and was halfway through his second. His mind felt heavy and contentment washed over him sporadically.

"It is different from faelnirv but it is tasteful," said Arya. Her eyes darted to the tankard in his hand. "Is it alright for you to drink so much, Eragon?"

"I will be fine," said Eragon chuckling slightly. "It has been quite a while since I have indulged myself. What of you, Arya? I have not seen you drink in quite some time nor have I seen you drink so much. Will you be fine?"

"I can handle my liqueur," said Arya with a slight smile.

He nodded, turning his head to watch as they brought a large boar to the table. While everyone partook in the meat, Eragon and Arya were content with the variety of fruits and vegetables that laid before them.

"Here, Arya," he placed a slice of blueberry pie before her, knowing that she particularly liked berries. The dazzling look she gave him made his heart speed up and he felt his already flushed face become even more heated. It was a good thing he had the liqueur as an excuse for his complexion at the moment.

_I want to hold her, _the errant thought passed through his mind and he found himself liking the idea. With great effort, he didn't and instead reached for a dessert to help himself to. An hour later, indifferently clapping to the music that was echoing about the open space, he blinked when Arya took his hand, already standing from her seat.

"Will you dance with me?" her face was flushed and a smile adorned her features.

Nodding mutely, he stood and in his haste bumped his knees against the table. Thankfully, no one noticed or rather everyone seemed too inebriated to notice the clumsiness on his part. It was a merry song and after having watched the dwarves dance to it, Eragon easily knew the steps.

Taking hold of Arya's small hand in his, he took a breath before starting the dance off. It had been a long time since they'd danced together. The pleasure he felt as Arya twirled about him was just as welcome as the dwarves' mead. He didn't know how long he danced with her but when the time came for Eragon to see his mother off, he had to regretfully pull away from her.

"Thank you for the dance, Arya," said Eragon warmly as the two of them stood off to the side. Eragon's eyes darted back to the celebrating mass, the cheerful atmosphere already feeling as if it were worlds away.

"Are you leaving already?" asked Arya, her cheeks flushed whether from dancing or from the liqueur, he did not know.

Eragon nodded. "There are some things that I must take care of before early morn."

She nodded, her emerald eyes flickering back to the festivities before they returned to his. "Take care then, Eragon…And sleep well."

Once more at the sight of Arya's soft features, he felt bold. His emotions fueled by the burning heat of the mead made him reach out to place a hand on Arya's head, stroking her hair. Then softly, he leaned forward to kiss her on the temple. "Good night, Arya."

Inhaling her scent, he moved away from her barely catch the soft murmur of good night from her as he did so. He was positive that the moment he woke up, he was going to regret his brazen action but for now, he was happy. His good mood did not dissipate when he reached Angela and Selena, the two of them waiting by the abandoned library as he had asked them to.

"My, my, my, someone looks rather happy," observed Angela with a teasing smirk as she caught sight of Eragon's features in the dim glow of the flameless lantern several yards behind them. "Did you enjoy the festivities?"

Eragon ignored her, his eyes flickering to Selena. His mother was armed once more with her sword and dagger. She looked capable enough. "Do you have everything you need to travel back to the Empire?" asked Eragon noticing that she did not have a traveler's pack with her. "I can arrange a pack for you."

"If I do not, I can always gather what I need," said Selena eventually, her tone stiff as if she thought his words patronizing.

"Very well," said Eragon. He glanced down the dark hallway, before his eyes flickered back to Angela. "I will walk her a ways down the tunnel, Angela. You can leave if you wish."

"I will wait," said Angela, reassuring him that if he did not come back that she would come looking for him.

With a nod in Angela's direction, Eragon conjured a werelight and gestured for Selena to begin walking. She looked as if she was going to protest with him but thought against it last minute. In stony silence, the two of them began to travel down the abandoned tunnel. As they did so, Eragon made sure to make note of the tunnel as well as every other abandoned tunnel in Farthen Dûr. They were going to have to have more guards stationed about or perhaps seal off the tunnels permanently.

"You do not have to walk me," said Selena as they walked deeper into the tunnel.

"I wanted to see you off," said Eragon. He took a moment to notice the drawn corner of Selena's eyes which caused him to frown. "Has Angela done something to upset you?"

Selena did not respond to him. He could only guess as to what Angela did. Perhaps she'd shown Selena her future? Or maybe she'd said something drastic to the Black Hand? He was going to have to ask her later. After walking his mother a hundred yards, Eragon came to a stop. They'd walked far enough. Eragon surveyed the darkness that laid out of range of his werelight.

"Be careful, Selena," said Eragon as she conjured her own werelight, hers green compared to his blue.

Selena's brown eyes focused on him. "Why are you helping me?"

"I want to give you an opportunity to live your life," said Eragon honestly, the mead making him more truthful than he would like. His mind wandered to Morzan and then to Brom. His mother would figure it out eventually.

"I see," she murmured.

"One question before you leave though," said Eragon seriously. "When you were fighting me. I can feel that you were not as intent on killing me as you said you were. Why is that?"

"Even I do not know," said Selena, a slight tinge of confusion sweeping across her features. "You gave me a familiar feeling, that was all…And what of you? You said I reminded you of someone. Who did I remind you of that stopped you from killing me?"

"My mother."

Selena's eyes widened slightly at his answer. After a long moment, she turned away taking a few steps away from him. "Know this Eragon, saving me does not do you any favors. We stand on opposite sides of this war. However, I can see that you are a good person."

"As I believe that you are a good woman," said Eragon.

His mother tilted her head slightly, a soft laugh leaving her lips. Then without another word, she began to walk away from him. Standing where he was, he watched as her figure became smaller and her werelight dimmer. Turning away from the sight of the fading light, Eragon slowly began to make his way back to Farthen Dûr. The time would come when he would meet his mother once more. For now, he could only hope that she took care of herself and realize what it meant to be in love.

Presently, he could only worry about what laid before him and that was strengthening the Varden to the utmost so that when he departed, he did not have to worry about the organization. Holding his werelight higher, he continued walking not bothering to turn back to see if his mother's light was still present.

**I've been running into some writer's block lately. There's something that I want to add to TMF but since it drastically affects Formora, I'm not sure if I want to go that route. I'm going to stew on it some more, but please give me your thoughts. I'm being vague but all I can say is that it's not going to be flowers and rainbows for Formora if I do add this to the story and I know many of you like Formora. Apart from Formora, I've been wanting to write more scenes with Eragon and Arya lately but that would eat up the word count and this story is already half as long as RL. I can only hope that it's within the same range when it finishes. Moving away from TMF, I've recently bought **_**The Last of Us, **_**and let me tell you that game is intense. I mean, I've played **_**The Walking Dead **_**but Clementine and Lee are a far cry from Joel and Ellie. I honestly don't know which pairing is my favorite, they each have their own perks. I've also became obsessed with NBA 2K14 for the next-gen consoles. I don't know why but I just like playing MyCareer mode. That's all I have to say really! See you all soon and for those who celebrate the 4th of July, I hope you all have a safe and fun holiday next week!**

**P.S. Someone mentioned Eragon's servants in a PM to me and I can guarantee you that they will show up in TMF as well as several other characters. Also, I'm curious, I like Eridor remaining as Eridor but a part of me wants to rename him Firnen as he's named in the original. Your thoughts?**


	45. Chapter 44

**Chapter 44**

**You know what's really weird? Someone kept commenting that I update with short chapters (or chapters that are shorter than usual) but most of the chapters I've been uploading recently are about 6,500-7000 words. I didn't really want to make my chapters any longer than that because it just felt really weird and drawn out to me. In any case, I have finally updated (there's a four year time skip in this chapter) and I'm curious as to your response with this chapter. But you can tell me that after you've read it through. In any case, how had you all been? To those who celebrated 4th of July was it any fun? My neighbors were shooting fireworks off like crazy all morning and all night. My family came over and we celebrated together! Anyways, R&R!**

Walking about the chambers, Eragon nodded at the members of the Du Gata Vrangr as they practiced their spells. They were much better than he remembered them being in the other Alagaësia. Their knowledge of the ancient language was commendable and they were all versatile in commanding the language. Another difference was that the Du Gata Vrangr was great in numbers—perhaps even greater than Galbatorix's army of magicians. The stigma against magic users in the Varden had greatly declined over the years. More and more, there were those who came to join the Du Gata Vrangr in order to hone their skills whether it was to become a healer, an offensive magician, or simply to help bolster the Varden's economy.

He was proud, there was no other word for it.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, he blinked when a petite dark haired woman approached him. She was very attractive for a human woman. She was, however, spoken for. Eragon had been at her wedding, watching as she married Faramir's son, Brant. Faramir had sadly passed away a few years earlier and his son had been able to take up the torch behind him. Soon, Deynor was going to be following his trusted commander. The leader of the Varden was old and had lived a very fruitful life. Yet, Eragon could very well see the cracks in the walls. A few more year and they would soon need another leader for the Varden.

"What do you think of the new recruits?" asked Serafina. She was the second in command to the Du Gata Vrangr. While Eragon was away or busy, she would oversee the organization. Sometimes Rosalie would be beside her or Angela, when she was willing.

"They lack discipline but they make up for it with their determination," said Eragon as he moved to the edge of the chamber, observing the senior members as they studied at their own pace. A few were pouring over large tomes while the others were practicing their mental barriers with each other.

"Several of the senior members are trying to teach them control," said Serafina with a nod. "It is an important concept to grasp as a magician. Most often than not, a battle between magicians is more of will than strength."

"A keen observation," noted Eragon. "How are you, Serafina? I hear your daughter is keeping your hands full."

At the mention of her daughter, Serafina nodded, her eyes sparkling. "Yes, she certainly is. Her father is having a hard time not spoiling her."

"Brant has always been family oriented," agreed Eragon. "Your daughter is four?"

Serafina nodded. "When she grows older, I plan on teaching Trianna magic so that she may join the Du Gata Vrangr. She is very curious when it comes to magic. I oftentimes find her watching me as I study."

"It sounds as if she will be inheriting her mother's talents," said Eragon knowing full well that Trianna was going to become a sorceress. She had the capabilities in his other Alagaësia. He could only hope that Serafina and Brant did not spoil her so that she would end up with a narcissist attitude when she was older. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a golden bangle shaped like a serpent wrapped in on itself. He'd found it in Surda during one of his trips. Since Trianna would be growing up in the Varden as opposed to Surda, Eragon was fortunate to come across it. "Here, a gift for Trianna. When she is old enough and can wield magic, give this to her."

"You did not have to, Sir Eragon," said Serafina, humbled as she accepted the gift for her daughter.

Eragon smiled at her. "I am well acquainted with Brant's family. I wish to give this gift to your daughter so that she may use it well in the future. My intuition tells me that she will be following behind in her mother's footsteps."

"You flatter me so," murmured Serafina, lightly blushing at his praise.

The two of them continued about the members, observing them and oftentimes commenting here and there. Eragon paused at a corner table where ten members of the Du Gata Vrangr were gathered. "Ah," murmured Serafina when she managed to get a good look at what they were conversing about. "As per your request, we have begun mapping out Farthen Dûr to the very last tunnel and are trying to create a system that will alarm us to any enemy attacks."

"Have the dwarves assisted in this?" asked Eragon, his eyes taking in the numerous maps that laid on the table. He remembered asking Orik to assist the Du Gata Vrangr with the process.

"Yes, Orik has sent many architects to us so that we can finish mapping out Farthen Dûr," said Serafina. She gave Eragon an apologetic look. "The process will take some time to carry out due to the size of the area you want us to cover."

"Take your time," said Eragon simply. He knew he was asking much and he was grateful that they were taking his request to heart. He took one last glance at the plans before taking his leave of the Du Gata Vrangr.

Rather than make his way to his quarters, he walked in the direction of the east gate. From Arya's grass letters, she had told him that she was returning back to the Varden this evening with the things that he'd required. The letter had come to him two days ago, afloat with the use of magic. She'd written them on dried leaves, shaping it into the form of a ship with three masts. Once he was done reading, he'd promptly refolded it and placed the ship in a wine bottle to preserve.

When he reached the east gate, he nodded to the group of soldiers that was standing guard. They saluted to him and continued about their duties, none of them slacking in the lightest. Leaning against the wall by the large gates, he folded his arms across his chest. It had been four years since his mother had tried to assassinate him and he heard no word about her anymore. However, what he did know was that the Varden had lost contact with Brom—meaning that his father was currently serving as a gardener to the Morzan estate.

Eragon fought a smirk knowing that Brom was watering more than flowerbeds. By now, Murtagh was one year old and Selena must have fallen out of love with Morzan. When Eragon left the Varden, he was going to have to find a way to take Murtagh and Selena from the estate and hide them in Carvahall. He'd given much thought to the idea. At first he'd been intent on taking them back to the Varden but when he thought of his mother and father, the idea began to lose its appeal to him. He knew how much the two of them longed for a normal life together without the thought of war. Perhaps—even if it was for a short moment—he could give it to them.

"Open the gates! Lady Arya is returning!"

The shout drew Eragon from his thoughts. Straightening, he turned his head to find the guards turning the gears of the gates, letting the doors swing up enough for three people to walk through. There was a whistle and the doors were swung shut once more.

"Welcome back," Eragon greeted them, mostly Arya as he pushed away from the wall to walk towards her. She turned her head in his direction bestowing a smile on him, making his heart turn in his chest. He noticed that she was carrying an extra pack while Glenwing was holding something rectangular in his hands, wrapped in ebony silk. "How were your travels?"

"Uneventful," said Arya as Eragon fell into step beside her. "Did you receive my letter?"

"I did," said Eragon. "It was beautifully crafted. Was Rhunön less than pleased about my requests?"

Arya shook her head, reaching into her pack to pull out a scroll that was tied about the middle for Eragon. "Not at all," said Arya, looking faintly amused. "She wanted me to deliver this to you since you have not been back to visit her for some time. I dare say she misses your presence in the forge."

He accepted the scroll from her deciding to open it later when he was alone. "Thank you for delivering my request to Rhunön, Arya. I know that it is wrong of me to ask you for such when your duties keep you busy."

"We are friends, are we not?" Her dark green eyes stared up at him. Eragon felt an unexplainable flood of happiness wash through him at her sincere words. They walked a few paces before Arya stopped, handing him the extra pack that she carried. He heard the slight clang of metal as she did so. "This is for you as Rhunön instructed me to give you as well as this." She motioned for Glenwing to hand Eragon the wrapped object he was holding.

Slinging the pack over his shoulder, Eragon accepted the object.

"I have to report to Deynor," said Arya apologetically.

"It is fine, but when you are done will you come to find me? There is something I must speak to you of," said Eragon. Arya nodded and with one last look at him, turned and continued further into Tronjheim leaving Eragon to stand there with the things that she'd given him. Taking a moment to weigh the object in his hands, he felt rather surprised that Rhunön had actually done as he'd asked. No doubt, she had several scorching words to tell him in her delivered scroll.

His things in hand, Eragon made his way to his room. Veric was inside and sleeping curled up in one corner when he entered, locking the door behind him. Entering his study, he set the pack and the wrapped object on his desk and unrolled the scroll.

_Eragon,_

_Know that I do not do this for anyone. My craft is merely for my own purposes and does not serve any greater role unless I decide to let it to. However, I shall make an exception since you are my apprentice as well as the one who has brought back my work—one-by-one. This is the least I can do for you in return. Though I am curious as to why you asked such from me, I will not be privy of what you need such items for. Carry out your duties and when you see it fit, return to Ellesméra so that I may see how your blacksmith skills are._

_-Rhunön_

It was very short and to the point, exactly what he expected from Rhunön. Putting the parchment to the side, he unwrapped the silk cloth from the object to find an obsidian colored chest resting before him. Etched in the wood was a glyph in the ancient language that stood for _Impenetrable. _Admiring the smooth surface of the chest, he unlatched it to find it lined with velvet in the inside. Running his fingers along the velvet, he smiled at the beautiful design. He was going to have to write a thank you letter for Rhunön when he had time.

This would be the perfect case to hold the Dauthdaert. First thing he was going to have to do was infiltrate Belatona and steal the family heirloom from Bradburn's family. It wouldn't be hard in the least. Closing the case, he rewrapped it in the silk and turned to the pack, unloading the items inside.

One by one, he placed the black pieces of metal onto the desk until he found himself staring at the ensemble of black armor. It was different from the one that he wore as Gabranth but it would do whenever he needed to wear it while he was away from the Varden. Lifting the helm up in his hands, he turned it—studying the design. The armor looked more like it fitted a dark knight than a monster. Perhaps that was the difference between this armor and the old one that he had.

Putting the helm back down on his desk, Eragon studied the armor. He had gathered everything he needed to leave the Varden. It was time. Murtagh was born, Brom—a spy on Morzan's estate, and the Varden was strong and steady; he saw no other reason to prolong it anymore. There was the issue of Formora, but Eragon knew she would not cause the Varden any trouble.

Packing the armor away, he rolled up the scroll and tucked it away in the drawer of his desk where he placed all of his other missives. Grabbing the pack and wrapped case, he placed the two in the corner of his bedroom. Turning away, his eyes caught the silver armor that stood on display in the opposite corner of his bedroom. It was armor fit for a prince. Walking forward, he reached up to remove the helm, turning it in his hands. Arya had given him this helm, forged by Rhunön. He was going to have to leave it behind. He didn't want to risk damaging it while he was away. Tracing the gold lining, he stared at it for a moment longer before he returned to its place.

His armor wasn't going to be the only thing he left behind. The thought of everything else made his throat constrict. Reaching up, he rubbed his face tiredly. Leaving his bedroom, he took a seat on one of his couches, his eyes darting to Veric. The white Shrrg was fast asleep. He'd been up all day, helping the dwarves herd cattle—which was very effective since the large beast proved to be fearsome when giving chase to something. He was going to have to leave behind Veric as well.

_Arya will take care of him, _thought Eragon as he watched his silent companion sleep. _If not Arya, then Formora will. _Veric had always been with Eragon, slinking about whenever he wasn't off with someone else. If Eragon could take Veric with him, he would. The fact of the matter stood that Veric was too large and fearsome to wander about in the Empire without gaining attention.

He sat back in his couch, his hands folded neatly in his lap. He would depart from the Varden in a week's time—which he would use to settle all loose ends. Then he would travel to Belatona and steal the Dauthdaert. He had no doubt that Bradburn would think of the thievery simply as that and not as something the Varden had planned so as to not arouse Galbatorix's suspicious. Then with the Dauthdaert in hand, he would continue traveling until he reached Urû'baen and steal the three eggs. When he was done, rather than return to the Varden, he was going to take his mother and Murtagh away from Morzan's estates and hopefully Brom would kill the last and final Forsworn. Enduriel had died two years earlier from a setup devised by Brom.

His father had made sure to leave his worst enemy for last.

Closing his eyes, Eragon let out a deep breath. Not having the spirit to do anything else, he merely leaned against the couch and rested. There wasn't much to do for the day since he'd already carried out his duties earlier. He wasn't sure how much time had passed but when he heard a soft knock on his door, Eragon had to shake himself awake.

"Come in," Eragon called out as he straightened in his seat, rubbing his face tiredly. The door opened and Arya stepped in, still dressed in her black leather outfit. She took a seat not in the armchair a few feet away but beside him on the couch. Momentarily surprised, Eragon's brain began to become muddle when his sensitive nose caught the scent of crushed pine needles.

"How was your meeting with Deynor?" asked Eragon when his mind focused.

"Brief," said Arya, her eyes looking rather concerned. Her fingers twitched showing that she was restless. Her expression looked torn between concern and sadness. Taking a moment to study her, he reached out and laid a hand on hers. The touch was gentle but it was enough for Arya to turn her eyes to him.

"You are worried about Deynor," said Eragon quietly. Her hand twitched underneath his. Without words, she'd confirmed his suspicions. Having been with Arya since the beginnings of her tenure as elven ambassador, Eragon had tried his best to keep her away from the sorrows of death. He knew there was a sharp distinction between life and death for elves—because elves rarely died due to their natural strength and immortality.

"He is old and I wish that he would merely rest for…the remainder of his life," with great difficulty, Arya spoke, her eyes downcast.

"Deynor is too stubborn to wait in bed for death," said Eragon, his hand still covering Arya's. "He is old but he is still as sharp as he was when he first led the Varden—perhaps even sharper. It is his decision whether or not he wishes to stand down."

"It is unsettling," said Arya eventually her voice soft. "Rarely does one die in Du Weldenvarden least of all by old age." Eragon thought of Rhunön, who was no doubt more than a thousand years old. He squeezed Arya's hand, reminded of how different she was from the Arya he knew. His Arya understood death, having stared at it in the face on numerous occasions and escaping with her life intact but with the experience a scar on her soul. This Arya did not know death as well as the other did. She'd never experienced it when she was a child when her father returned to her. She was never going to experience by watching Fäolin or Glenwing die by the hands of Urgals and Durza.

"Death is natural, Arya," said Eragon softly. His mind wandered to what Alagaësia told him long ago. "It is the end of all things living. It will happen to all of us, whether sooner or later."

"I know," said Arya lifting her chin to meet his gaze. "It is merely hard to accept that there is such a great distinction between the lives of humans and elves—even between the lives of dwarves and humans."

Hearing her words and seeing her soft expression, made Eragon reach out and gather her in his arms in an embrace. She stiffened at first but it was for a brief moment until she relaxed. Breathing in her scent, he reached up to stroke her hair. "For the longest time, I have been trying my best to protect you from the sorrows outside of Du Weldenvarden. Yet, despite my best efforts I cannot shield you from death no matter how hard I try."

She shifted in his arms, one hand reaching up to lay against his chest with slight pressure. The contact made his stomach turn and Eragon fought the overwhelming urge to pull back and kiss Arya. "I am not a child Eragon, nor am I helpless." Though her voice was soft, there was an underlying tone of warning as if to tell him to be careful with how he treated her.

He chuckled. "No, that you are not. Another decade or so, you will be a century year old. You are far from a child, Arya. I know full well that you can take care of yourself. Even if I am not beside you anymore."

She stilled in his arms. Pulling away, Arya's eyes were wide as she stared up at him, his arms still loosely wrapped about her. Eragon did not break her gaze as he waited for her to process his words. "You are leaving?" asked Arya eventually, seemingly struggling with the words. Eragon nodded, withdrawing his arms as she blinked a few times as if someone had struck her. A small part of Eragon was greatly pleased with her stunned reaction to the news of his departure. Another part of him was worried about how she was going to take care of herself when he wasn't around. Granted, she never needed him to look over her shoulder but he couldn't help it.

"In a week's time," said Eragon. "I have thought long about when I should leave and now is the time."

"So sudden?" a crease appeared between her brows as she frowned.

"I have been thinking of this for some time now, Arya," said Eragon as he clasped his hands together. "I told Deynor of my intentions five years ago. It is now time for me to leave and do what needs to be done."

"But why now?" Arya had switched over from the human tongue to the ancient language. Eragon had to admire Arya for challenging him in her own way. Only she—perhaps Formora and Angela as well—could go against his word without having to fear retribution.

"It is the most opportune moment," said Eragon simply. "Galbatorix is too distracted with his Empire and only one of the Forsworn remain, which I am certain Brom shall take care of."

"We have lost contact with Brom two years ago," said Arya shaking her head. "After he had set Enduriel on the path of his downfall, he had stopped contacting us."

"So long as Brom is not dead, I know for certain that he will be Morzan's downfall," said Eragon, his tone resolute.

"What of Deynor?" asked Arya. "He needs you by his side."

"I have made it so that Deynor is surrounded by those he can trust," said Eragon, having long ago perfected this argument if it were to come up when he spoke about his departure. "The Council of Elders will be there to protect him as well as Brant, Rosalie, Orik, and Angela if she so wishes to."

"And if Deynor passes away while you are gone?" asked Arya. "There are those who would be more than happy to exploit the position as leader of the Varden."

Eragon smiled at Arya, he reached over to gently take her right hand in his. "You will be here if that were to ever happen."

"I can only do so much," said Arya. She shifted where she sat as if she was beginning to grow restless. His hand tightened over hers as if to comfort her.

"Arya, I trust you and I trust your judgment," said Eragon seriously and the fact that he said it in the ancient language only gave testament to his words. "I know you will do the right thing even if I am not here. Do not doubt yourself, but rather believe that you can do what is right. You have the strength and will do so, more so than anyone else I know."

"I can only hope I am as strong as you believe me to be," murmured Arya, reaching up with her free hand to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "Where will you be going?"

He had a hard time answering her. When it came to Arya, he wanted to be as truthful with her as he could. He just didn't know how to tell her where he was going without raising any alarms. "To find something that will help us defeat Galbatorix," said Eragon eventually.

She seemed to accept that as a suitable answer. "When will you return?"

"I am not certain myself," said Eragon.

His answer seemed to unsettle her but she did not say anything else about the matter. It was odd how Eragon was once more reminded of how important their friendship was to Arya. It always slipped his mind that he had Arya had been friends for nigh on seventy years.

"Be careful," whispered Arya as she turned to him. Realizing the close proximity in which they sat with each other, Eragon discreetly moved to put a respectable distance between them. He did not want to do anything he would regret. He wanted Arya to come to him rather than coming to her. And even then, he had mixed feelings about such. He loved Arya but he didn't know if he wanted her to love him or love the Eragon born to his world. It was selfish if he took Arya's love from his other self.

"I swear to you," said Eragon sincerely. A slight whine caused both him and Arya to turn in the direction of Veric. The white Shrrg was suddenly laid sprawled on his side on the ground, taking up a great amount of space. At this Eragon sighed while Arya laughed quietly.

"Will you watch over Veric as well as my quarters while I am away?" asked Eragon, his attention focused on Arya once more.

"Yes."

Her answer came without hesitation.

"Thank you." The only response was a slight squeeze of his hand.

Later that night, after Arya had left to rest for an early morning, Eragon was lying in his bed, staring at the hand that held Arya's. She seemed reluctant to let go. Ever since the feast they'd attended four years ago in which he had showed more affection to her than was fitting of a friend, their interactions with each other shifted. They were close friends but it felt as if the thought of more was insinuated underneath each of their actions. Eragon had never acted more on his emotions with Arya. He was torn and a coward. He couldn't find it in himself to make a decision regarding his feelings with Arya.

Therefore, he was content to merely leave it the way it was. If he was to start a romantic relationship with Arya, he knew it wasn't going to last. Even if Angela's theory of convergence was not true, he could not take Arya away from the other Eragon. That was his mindset. If Eragon were to be born—if he was anything like Eragon currently—he would grow to love Arya. And perhaps, with time she would grow to love him back. At the thought of it, he felt a slight pang of jealousy before laughing at himself.

_Jealous of your other self?_

If his Arya was here, she would surely laugh at him and shake her head, commenting on his childish behavior. He sighed just as there was a dip in the bed. Veric had decided to curl up on the end of his large mattress once more. Eragon gently nudged him with his foot.

_Veric, get down, _he said to the white Shrrg. Veric's amber eyes darted to Eragon and he let out such a pitiful whine that Eragon merely scoffed before letting the White Shrrg take up nearly half of his bed. He was too used to being spoiled by Formora and Arya that he sometimes didn't listen to Eragon. By the time he returned from his journey, Veric might become so spoiled that he would want to sleep in Eragon's bed all the time.

_Only this once, _said Eragon dangerously to the Shrrg. Veric blinked in response as if to tell him he understood. With a strong tug, Eragon pulled his covers up and turned to sleep.

Over the next few days, Eragon was preparing to leave. He'd ended up busier than ever as he gave out orders to those who were going to be taking command once he was gone. He had sat down and gave Brant a full lecture of keeping the soldiers disciplined and not lazing in any way. Then he'd found Serafina and made her the head of the Du Gata Vrangr to which she humbly accepted. He'd also spent a great deal of time with Deynor and the Council of Elders, speaking to them about the position of the Varden and reminding them that it was their duty to remain strong and vigil as the head of the organization.

It wasn't until five days had passed with his conversation with Arya did Eragon find himself face to face with Formora, who had been strangely absent. He had been heading back from Angela's quarters to his when he came across the haughty elf maiden. And then in silent agreement, the two of them ended up falling into the step together walking aimlessly about the halls of Tronjheim.

"You are leaving in two more days," Formora was the first to speak.

Eragon nodded, unsure of how to approach this particular vein of conversation with Formora. Five years ago when he'd first mentioned leaving, she had ignored it as if he hadn't said anything. Now, she was speaking as if she were talking to a strangely—formal and withdrawn.

"Why?"

If only the answer was so simple. "There is something I must do in order for us to defeat Galbatorix," said Eragon cryptically hoping she would somehow understand.

"Let me go with you."

"No," just as sudden as Formora's request was, Eragon's reply came without a moment's thought. He couldn't risk Formora coming with him. She would question how he knew such information and so far he'd kept his identity a secret. "I need you here."

"You do understand that without you here no one will trust me?" asked Formora, coming to a sudden stop in their walk.

"The Varden trusts you, Formora," said Eragon. At her expression he corrected himself. "The people who matter in any case."

"Those would be?"

"Arya is one," said Eragon. At the mention of Arya, Formora's expression suddenly became distasteful as if she couldn't help but be irritated. Once more, Eragon would never understand the relationship between females. From the surface, he thought Arya and Formora get along well enough. The two of them were cordial—Arya was the polite one while Formora used every moment to mock her—and spent their time together whenever they came across each other.

"She will be there to support you," Eragon said, ignoring Formora's reaction.

"Did you ask her to do such?"

He shook his head. "I know she will. She is not someone to leave her friends in their time of need."

Formora's eyes narrowed at him slightly. "What do you need me here for?" When he didn't answer, she paved on. "What can I do that you cannot?"

Her words brought the most recently formed idea back to the front of Eragon's mind. He had contemplated this day and night. When Hefring stole Thorn's egg in the other Alagaësia, a large disagreement ensued between the Varden, the elves, and the dwarves on who would be responsible for the egg. That was how an agreement came to terms in how Brom would train the new Rider but Arya would be the egg courier. But Brom alone wasn't enough to train a Rider to defeat Galbatorix. While Eragon tended to think of himself as a person who believed in justice, he knew well enough that justice alone was not enough to defeat an evil like Galbatorix. He needed someone like Formora to teach the new Rider—to teach the other Eragon the meaning of having no mercy with an enemy like Galbatorix.

"Trust me, Formora," said Eragon gently. "There is one thing that I need of you, but I cannot tell you as of yet."

Whether she was moved by his words or the sincerity in which he'd said it he didn't know, but she nodded in acceptance. Somewhat shocked that Formora had given in so easily, Eragon was about to thank her only to stop when she stepped closer to him, instantly making him cautious. He eyed her, afraid that she might do something that he wouldn't agree with.

"I will do as you ask only if you promise me one thing," said Formora, so close that Eragon could feel her breath on his face.

"What is it?" asked Eragon standing stock still.

Her expression softened somewhat, looking vulnerable before Eragon. "Will you promise that you will come back?" she said it so softly that he had to bend closer to her to hear her words.

He stood there feeling guilty towards Formora and how much she cared for him. In her own way, Formora had always been by his side. He turned to look at her, taking in her blue eyes and red lips which looked as if they wanted to curl downwards but refused. He could only hope that she would find someone who would love her more than she loved Eragon.

He knew her feelings well enough but he couldn't find it in him to address her about it. Not after the time she'd told him about her real name. He listened to her voice when she'd told him and knew that she was giving herself to him in a way. Closing his eyes, he nodded before saying the one word she wanted to hear in the ancient language.

"Yes."

"Then I suppose we have a deal," said Formora stepping away from him. She smirked. "When you come back I will be waiting for you to admit that you missed me."

He snorted at her humor. "We shall see."

If there was one thing that he admired about Formora, it was her resilience. She raised a brow at him before tossing her hair behind her shoulder with a flick of her hand. "I shall see you off in two days?"

"It would mean a great deal to me," said Eragon, he reached forward to lay a hand on her shoulder. "You are a close friend of mine." Taking a step forward, he leaned down and for the first time since she'd told him her true name, whispered it for her to hear. As he'd expected, he felt a tremor run down her body as the name pierced her ears.

Formora did not say anything in response but stepped closer to him, her arms coming up to wrap around his waist as if to find comfort from his embrace. Not denying her this one moment, Eragon wrapped his own arms about Formora. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Formora had ever interacted like this with anyone else. Had she any other friends to speak to? His thoughts darkened slightly as he thought of how her history would prevent her from having friends. Was Formora lonely?

His arms tightened around the Forsworn at the thought and he wished in that moment that he could protect Formora even when he was gone.

The last day before his departure found Eragon wandering about the halls of Farthen Dûr. He felt restless being back in his quarters. He had already packed and was ready to leave when early morn came. He'd spent the past few days preparing the Varden and saying his farewells. It made him feel strangely empty for some reason. He couldn't place it but he just did.

As he was walking, he stopped when he heard soft footfalls in his direction. He glanced up to find Arya making her way towards him, Fäolin and Glenwing following behind her. _Ah, _thought Eragon as he drank in the sight of her. He had been thinking of her and she just appeared before him.

"I am glad to catch you," said Arya when she was upon him.

"Have you already packed, Eragon?" asked Glenwing with a smile as if he were seeing a longtime friend off.

"I have," replied Eragon. He politely greeted Fäolin with a strained smile.

"We will see you off in the morning," said Glenwing when Eragon returned his gaze to the elf guard.

"That is very kind of you," said Eragon turning to leave. "Well, if you are—"

"Eragon, wait," Arya had reached out to grab his hand, holding him in place. She turned to her guards. "The both of may leave and attend to your own duties now. I wish to speak with Eragon."

"Of course, Arya," Glenwing nodded to her and turned to leave with Fäolin following behind, but not without one last look at her. He turned to Arya who had yet to release his hand. He couldn't help but feel smug as he watched Fäolin retreat. When Arya was younger, she had often willing took Fäolin's side over his even though she wasn't really aware of the circumstance. Now, however, she had chosen him.

"What is it?" asked Eragon. But she merely shook her head and gestured for him to follow her which he did, his hand still held in hers. Allowing her to lead him, the two of them walked for some time before Arya came to a stop before two large oak doors. She pushed it open to lead Eragon inside.

It was a large inside garden like the one of Tialdarí Hall. He took a moment to admire how amazingly natural it all looked before his attention turned to Arya. She had grown quiet by his side and if he didn't know any better, she look rather nervous—almost timid.

He waited for her to speak but blinked when she released his hand and began to walk about the garden, her eyes sweeping the ground for something. Rather than follow her, he took a moment to admire how Arya looked against the background of the flowers some of them exotic and tropical and the others reminding Eragon strongly of a home somewhere in the valley. He watched as she stopped towards the center and bent down before standing once more.

When she'd returned to him, Arya held something out to him. "I sang this for you this morning. I have been trying to find an appropriate time to give it to you," said Arya. In her hand was a red rose. Eragon stared at the flower, the impact of Arya's words making his throat constrict. He accepted the flower, staring down at it with one thought penetrating his mind: _she had sang this rose for him_. "I do not know if you can take it with you wherever you go but I wish for you to have it."

"I will keep it with me, always," promised Eragon as he lifted the rose to his nose to smell it. Instantly, he felt at peace when Arya's distinct smell washed over him. Was that her doing? Lifting his eyes from the rose, he bestowed a smile upon her. "Thank you, Arya. It is a beautiful rose…as are you."

A faint flush rose up in her cheeks. Then she turned her head away to stare at a bush of marigolds. "I know that you have your duties to attend to and I have mine, but I did not want you to leave without telling you how I felt."

Thinking that she meant the rose to be a sign of their friendship, Eragon nodded opening his mouth to reply but stopped when she continued looking hesitant. "I know that I am not as experienced as you are nor can I ever give you something more than a rose but Eragon…You mean much to me."

"And you mean just as much to me, Arya," said Eragon in the ancient language.

Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at him. She was so close, he only had to move his head forward a little and could easily kiss her. Instead, he was about to straighten only to freeze on the spot when the smell of crushed pine needles assaulted his senses and the soft sensation of Arya's lips on his reached his brain. He felt her slim fingers wrap about the hand that was holding her rose and without thinking, Eragon returned her kiss trying to tell her how much she meant to him, the Arya before him and the Arya he knew in his memories.

When her lips parted over his, a feeling he hadn't felt in the longest time blossomed in his chest to consume his entire being: contentment.

**Hmmmm...I suppose you'll get to see what Arya's thinking later along the lines. Remember everyone, she's OC compared to the Arya in Reversed Life. She's bound to act somewhat different to the other Arya (who you will see sometime soon...) In any case I saw the word count and thought I was being a tad bit cruel withholding ExA from all of you. So I've decided to hurry up and write this chapter so that you can get a small glimpse of ExA. You'll have to see what happens next at the next chapter. In any case, there wasn't really that many concerns I wanted to address from the last chapter apart from the fact that I might be keeping Eridor's name. In any case, see you all soon!**


	46. Chapter 45

**Chapter 45**

**Because many of you insisted on Arya's POV, I decided to write this when originally I hadn't intended to for some chapters. Someone had said that they thought Arya was leaning more to Faolin **but...was** she really? I suppose no one will really know how Arya feels unless they were in her head so here it is for you to see. I've always intended for Arya and Eragon to get together here but it's not going to be a smooth ride. As for RL Arya, you're just going to have to wait and see. RL Eragon's feelings on this will be shown next chapter! In any case, R&R everyone!**

Eighty four years wasn't a short span, it was long even in terms of elven society. And in the eighty four years of her life, Arya had never before felt so alive. Her blood was pounding in her veins, she could hear her heartbeat in her ears, her skin was flushed, and her mind buzzing. It was akin to the feeling of drinking too much faelnirv or mead. Yet the headiness that she felt was much stronger, more encompassing. Her fingers tightened on Eragon's hand, coming into contact with the soft petals of the rose that he held in his hands.

The rose had been long in coming. She should have given it to him all those years ago but she never could. That was the difference between her and Eragon—between her and Formora. Arya could never act on her feelings when they were not in turn bound to her duty. What she wanted never stood at the forefront of her mind, it was what her people needed of her that was her greatest priority. It was always Arya Dröttningu and never Arya. But just this once, she wanted to be Arya.

A large hand settled on her back, pressing her closer to him. Carefully stepping closer to his warmth, she was careful not to crush the rose between them. The feeling was so intimate that she couldn't help but shudder. Tentatively, her other hand came up to rest on Eragon's broad shoulder. When he didn't pull away or deny her, her hand slid up further to rest in his chestnut hair, fingers curling in the messy locks.

Lips parting over his, her mind began to wander to a time in which the summer had come to Ellesméra, cloaking the trees in the warmth of the sunlight and making the flowers all the more beautiful.

"_It would seem that at my daughter's return the flowers in Tialdarí Hall have bloomed to welcome her home," said Evandar with a slight chuckle as they walked together through the flowerbeds. Arya smiled at her father's warm words. Rather than wear her usual leather clothing, she had forgone such for a dark emerald dress._

"_You jest, Father," said Arya at ease in her father's presence. He patted her hand which rested on his arm. "But it is as you said, the flowers are beautiful."_

_They walked past a bush Gardenias, the white flowers emanating a sweet fragrance. As they walked, her father eventually came to a stop near the center, his gray eyes sweeping the plants before them. "Which is your favorite flower?" asked Evandar, his eyes turning to her curiously._

_Instantly what came to mind were two specific flowers: the white rose and the Black Morning Glory. She knew what her favorite was. "The Morning Glory," said Arya. There wasn't a flowerbed for the Morning Glory in Tialdarí Hall but she didn't need one. She had a Morning Glory resting in her bedroom, embedded in a glass orb._

"_Why is that?" asked Evandar._

"_It is a beautiful flower," said Arya simply. The Morning Glory had always been a favorite of hers. She didn't need a reason to like it, did she? Just as the thought crossed her mind, her father nodded though he looked oddly curious. "What is it, Father?"_

"_How are your guards?"_

"_They are fine, should they not be?"_

_He smiled slightly. "Perhaps I should not have been so vague…How is your relationship with Fäolin?"_

_Her checks tinged pink at the question. She had not thought her father would ask such a question. At times, it was hard for her to imagine that he was the king of their people when he was saying such. "We are good friends, Father…Why do you ask such a thing?"_

"_I am not blind, Arya," said Evandar, his eyes twinkling as he smiled down at her. "It is only natural that I watch over my beautiful daughter. When Fäolin had asked to be your guard, I know he asked more so for your sake than for duty, which is not something to be ashamed of."_

"_I am not pursuing a relationship with him," said Arya. She fell silent before hesitantly approaching a sore subject that she avoided whenever she was at home. "Mother approves of Fäolin, does she not? She was rather pleased when he asked to be my guard."_

"_While that may hold some degree of truth, it is not important," said Evandar, the two of them continuing their walk. "You are my daughter as well as your mother's. You are also a princess of Du Weldenvarden and the only heir to the knotted throne. However, you are also your own person, Arya. I do not want you to place duty over your own needs. So long as you are happy, I am content."_

_If only her mother thought as much, thought Arya. As they walked, her eyes came to a stop on a bush of white roses, the flowers in bloom. Roses were not her favorite but she could stare at their beauty for long lengths of time. They gave her comfort because they reminded her of a man whose presence was always pleasant._

"_How is Eragon lately? It has been some time since he has come to visit," said Evandar, snapping Arya out of her thoughts. At the mention of Eragon, she felt her heartbeat become slightly faster. Ever since the dwarfs' feast and the affections that he bestowed upon her, she had become more aware of Eragon and how she reacted to him. Her heartbeats would increase, her eyes would trail him wherever he went, and she was distinctly aware of his scent—musky mixed with fresh air._

"_He is as he always is," said Arya with a slight smile as she thought her longtime friend, whom she was closer to than anyone else—excluding her father._

"_I hear he plans to leave the Varden," said Evandar._

_At the reminder of Eragon's eventual departure, she felt her heart clench. He was leaving once more. Eragon had always been strong of will and character. He did what he needed to do and was not easily persuaded elsewise. She admired his strength, his resolve, and his independence. Eragon was someone who didn't bow to anyone else. And when he did, he did not do it out of force or obligation but rather respect. She'd noticed it the more she was with him. He was respectful to her father, to the leaders of the Varden, and to King Hrothgar. Apart from them, he did not so much bat an eye at the sight of the Grimstborith of the dwarf clans or anyone else for the matter._

_However, it was his kindness to Arya that confused her. He was rarely attentive to others. She saw his interactions with Rosalie and Formora and though they were different, she could see he thought of them as friends. But with Arya in particular, he was much different. She'd always passed it off because Eragon was a close friend of her father's. She also knew that her father had asked Eragon to watch over her as well. Yet, it felt more to her._

"_He says that there is something that he must do," said Arya eventually, remembering that her father was waiting for a reply._

"_It sounds like something Eragon would say," said Evandar with a smile._

_At the sight of her father's expression, Arya found herself asking, "What do you think of Eragon?"_

"_He is a good man with a good heart," said Evandar in a rare showing of praise. Arya could not help but see the distinction between her mother and father. While her father was lackluster when it came to Fäolin, he held a great deal of respect towards Eragon. "You do not meet someone like him often. I feel at ease knowing that he is with you."_

As do I, _thought Arya. Father and daughter continued their walk about the gardens, their conversation soon turning over to the upcoming summer solstice._

The necessity for air caused Arya to pull away from Eragon, her breaths coming out in pants and her cheeks flushed. Staring up at Eragon from under her lashes, she didn't back down from the gaze of his piercing brown eyes. Half afraid that he was going to reject her, she didn't expect for him to bend down and capture her lips in his once more, barely allowing her time to regain her breathing. She did not complain, however, as she met his lips once more.

Eragon was different from anyone she'd ever encountered in her life and that was why between him and Fäolin, she was able to choose Eragon. She'd notice for some time now that the two of them avoided each other and would only be in her company if the other was not present. Naivety had caused her to overlook it but when it came to be blatant, she couldn't keep feigning ignorance. She and Fäolin were kindred spirits. From her time spent with him in Ellesméra before her tenure as ambassador, she'd learned that they shared common ground on many levels. They were both unsatisfied with their life in Du Weldenvarden, pursuing their own interests only to leave what they knew all their lives for the world outside.

The difference between Fäolin and Eragon was stark when she thought about it clearly. Eragon had never seen her as Arya Dröttningu, he would remind her of her station as a way to empower her and steel her resolve. However, the only person he saw her as was Arya, the elf maiden that had come to him in the middle of winter to ask him to the feast. Fäolin, on the other hand, was following her as an obligation to Arya Dröttningu and her family. He was kind. He was sweet. But there was an invisible line between them that was born out of their stations. In the end, Fäolin had ended up giving into duty to be with her outside of Du Weldenvarden. She didn't want duty to be the determining factor in her life.

If just for a moment, she wanted to act on her emotions and listen to where her heart led her and not her mind. The first time she'd done so was when she chose to leave Du Weldenvarden and act as her people's ambassador. When her mother had exiled her from her presence, it had wounded Arya to the very core. The one time she wanted to do something for herself, she'd lost someone she'd loved. And now as she stood before Eragon, wrapped in his warm embrace, she was slightly afraid of it happening once more with him.

She felt his fingers come up to brush along the curve of her cheekbone and fought a sigh against his lips. They stroked the skin of her cheek before sliding into her hair. She smiled into the kiss. His lips moved gently against hers and a breathy sigh left him in the form of her name.

The sound of it caused a shiver of pleasure to run down her spine. After a few breathtaking moments, she gasped quietly when Eragon's warm tongue slipped past her lips and swept the inside of her mouth. Feeling her hesitancy, he pulled away.

Hair messier than usual and lips swollen, Eragon peered at her with dark brown eyes. His voice was husky when he spoke. "Arya, I—"

Arya shook her head, her heart thumping in her chest. Trying to search for the words, she eventually settled for, "It was a surprise," said Arya, her cheeks flushing slightly at her obvious inexperience when it came to intimacy.

Eragon smiled at her, his hand in her hair coming forward to cup her cheek. "I am leaving in the morning, Arya," said Eragon gently in the ancient language, looking rather conflicted.

"I know," replied Arya, a cold feeling stabbed at her heart at the thought of seeing him off on his journey which she knew nothing about. "I just wished to tell you—show you how I felt. I could not stand seeing you off and you not knowing."

"And what is it that you feel?" The intensity of emotions in his eyes caused her heartbeat to speed up. Idly, Arya thought about Fäolin and how her close friend had never been able to move her heart so. She did not mind Fäolin's presence but she did not respond to him like she did Eragon.

She reached her hand up to wrap her fingers about his wrist, the gesture simple but meaningful. "Ardor," it came out as a whisper and she watched as a series of emotion passed in Eragon's eyes. When he did not say anything for the longest time, she felt uncertain. Had she pushed her feelings onto him? Was he uncomfortable because of her?

Arya moved to step back but before she could, Eragon's arm was wrapping around her waist and he brought his lips to hers once more, kissing her with such force that she had to brace herself against his chest. She tilted her head to better compliment him. This time when Eragon's tongue brushed against hers, she was better prepared. It didn't take long for Arya to easily to pick up the technique of the kiss. Nibbling his bottom lip, she kissed him harder when Eragon made a pleased sound in the back of his throat. With growing confidence, Arya gently tasted the inside of Eragon's mouth. His taste was sweet but with an underlying hint of more. It was akin to the taste of faelnirv but much better.

The two of them stood together, entwined about each other. When they pulled away, neither of them made to move away from the embrace. A chuckle snapped her from her thoughts. She glanced up to find Eragon staring down at her with a slight smile on his face.

"What is it?" asked Arya, feeling her own smile slide onto her face.

"It seems petty in hindsight but I have been irrationally cold towards your guard for no reason," said Eragon. Arya did not have to ask to know which of the two guards, Eragon was referring to. Suddenly, his expression became curious. "Why me, Arya?" She could hear the silent question in his voice: _why not Fäolin?_

"You were always there," said Arya softly. How could she describe it to him? "Not for Arya Dröttningu, but rather for Arya."

His hand that was stroking her back reached up to curl about her shoulder. "What do you want us to be, Arya?" He was leaving it all up to her to decide. He was giving her a choice that only she could make. If anything, that made her feelings for him even stronger.

"I want to be with you, Eragon," said Arya, feeling slightly embarrassed at how the words sounded to her own ears. Her eyes flickered to Vrangr and a voice from long ago rang in her mind. _Someone who wants to be with him. _"I know I am still rather young for an elf and I have my own duties but I…Just this once, I want to act on my own feelings."

"I do not know when I will be back, Arya," said Eragon gently as he stroked her hair.

"I will wait for you," said Arya determinedly. She had already thought this through and she was sincere in her words. She would believe in Eragon's words and that he would return to the Varden. Again, she watched as conflicted emotions passed in Eragon's eyes but he never spoke about them. Instead, he leaned down to kiss her on her temple like he'd done four years ago.

"Then I will come back to you," promised Eragon and that was enough for her. Allowing him to tuck her head against his shoulder and underneath his chin. She stayed tucked in his embrace but no matter how much she tried to put it out of her mind, she couldn't help but think of his departure in the morning. She only had so much time left with him.

Emboldened by how she felt for him, she pulled back slightly and leaned up to kiss him. He deepened it immediately and the two of them stood there, wrapped about each other. She didn't know how long she spent with Eragon in the indoor gardens but it was a long time before the two of them departed from the chamber, Eragon holding the rose she'd given him in one hand and her hand in his other.

She couldn't help but smile as they walked together in comfortable silence. She'd acted on her emotions and he'd accepted them. Her fear of rejection seemed to be unfounded from the start. Involuntarily, she squeezed his hand at the thought of his warmth moments earlier. It was as if he knew exactly what to say to her and how to say it.

As they walked, she fought the embarrassed flush that threatened to rise to the surface when a group of soldiers passed them as they patrolled the halls. They were staring at Eragon with open admiration, their eyes flickering between the two of them. One soldier was even brave enough to smile at the two of them as if to say congratulations.

"I suppose I must have crushed some young boy's fantasy," said Eragon wryly as his eyes darted to Arya.

"They will survive," said Arya, having grown used to the attention she received from the human males in the Varden. It wasn't as if she blamed them. Her race was naturally born beautiful. "You do not mind what they will say about you?"

"About me?" Eragon raised a brow at her, his lips pulled up slightly at the corners. "I have a beautiful mate, who is talented in every aspect of the word. I would say that I am proud." At his words, she suppressed the urge to laugh and blush at the same time—laugh at his flattery and blush at the use of the word _mate._

Together the two of them walked back to the hidden hallway where the quarters were located. Arya blinked as she glanced at her door which stood opposite of Eragon's. Stopping in front of Arya's door, Eragon turned to her, his expression soft.

"It is late, I should rest for my journey tomorrow," said Eragon softly but he made no move to leave.

Holding his gaze, she tried to find the words to speak. But her mind seemed to freeze when she thought of being separated from Eragon. He had always been there with her in the Varden. When she left for Ellesméra, he would be waiting for her return, welcoming her back with a smile. Or whenever she would end up wandering the halls of Tronjheim, he was always lurking about as if waiting for her to stumble across him. It hurt to think of being separated from him after having him as a constant in her life for so long. She'd never felt this way before with anyone.

"Yes, you should rest," agreed Arya. She made no move to open her door and enter her quarters, which left them at a standstill.

Seeing her hesitation, Eragon gestured to her door. "You should rest as well," he said. She nodded and reached forward to open her door only to stop and turn her attention to Eragon. Then, catching him by surprise, she leaned up and kissed him briefly.

When she pulled away, she smiled softly at him. "Sleep well, Eragon."

"Sleep well," came his soft murmur as she closed the door behind her. When the door was shut, Arya released a sigh of relief and a light laugh. She brought a hand to her face and couldn't stop the wide smile that surfaced on her features. She'd done what her heart had told her and she didn't regret it. Letting out another light laugh, her fingers reached up to touch her lips which were still soft from the kisses that she and Eragon had exchanged.

Walking into her bedroom, she unstrapped her weapons and laid them on the bedside table where she usually placed them. Removing her boots and headband, Arya took one last look at her bed before leaving for her study. She wasn't tired in the least. She felt refreshed and relaxed. Entering her study, she lit the oil lamp on the table, her eyes instantly drawn to the glass orb. It was the white rose that Eragon gave her many years ago.

Reaching for it, Arya held the glass in her hands delicately as she leaned against her table. She stared at the white rose thinking about the meaning it must have held for Eragon. He had told her that it was his favorite but could that be all? At the thought of the mysterious person who was with Eragon before her, she felt her heart ache with irrational jealousy. That person had given him much more than Arya could. She'd forged Vrangr for him and gave him the helm to protect him. Could she ever outmatch the person who came before her? Pushing the thought to the side, she returned to admiring the first flower she'd ever receive outside of her family. Her father had given her gifts of flowers before but it never meant as much when Eragon had given her the rose.

It had happened slowly but from the day she first met Eragon she found herself slowly losing a part of herself to him. Thinking of Eragon, she couldn't help but see him in a new, endearing light. Her eyes drifted back to the white rose in her hands. Her favorite was the Morning Glory but she didn't want a flower that only blossomed in the morning light but hid in the darkness. She wanted a flower that even in the dark of night, its beauty couldn't be masked.

Setting the orb down on her desk, she found herself staring up at the ceiling deep in thought. They were mates, weren't they? Arya had never said anything in regards to their relationship but Eragon had made a reference to it. She bit her lip, feeling rather insecure due to her vast inexperience when it came to following her emotions.

"_Rhunön-elda," Arya greeted the aged smith, unsurprised to find her in her forge despite it being the dead of winter. Rhunön spared Arya a glance, barely acknowledging her. The elven princess smiled. Rhunön was perhaps the only elf who was allowed to self-indulge herself in her craft to the point of isolation._

_Not insulted by a lack of greeting, Arya allowed her eyes to roam about the forge. There was a section to which she found herself stopping to admire. It was all of Eragon's old work before he'd left Du Weldenvarden. Rhunön had kept them for him so that he would one day come back and perfect them. Admiring a helm that Eragon made, she instinctively reached out to touch it but thought better of it. Rhunön would not like her being free with any of the works in her forge._

"_You are hard at work," observed Arya as she watched Rhunön hammer away on a broad and flat piece of metal that was the size of a buckler. "What is it for?"_

"_My mere interest," rasped Rhunön in her guttural voice. Arya nodded and without another word, seated herself at the workbench. Watching the smith work, Arya at there in contemplation. In a way, Arya admired Rhunön. She was always so brusque and short tempered when it came to people, objects, or tasks that she viewed as mundane._

_As Rhunön worked away, Arya warmly thought about Eragon. She'd remembered seeking him out only to find him bent over the workbench or anvil, hard at work with his latest project. It had been a very long time since those days. She wondered if life would ever return to such a peaceful albeit blissfully ignorant time on her part._

_Yet, deep in her heart, she already knew the answer to such a question. Too much had changed for things to return to what they once were. She'd changed, slow as it was in the passing years. She'd fought in battles, however small they were, had killed others, and had watched as the few friends she'd made pass away. Life outside Du Weldenvarden was a far cry from her brief time growing up in Ellesméra._

"_Do you ever miss him?" asked Arya, when she saw the lull in Rhunön's work._

_Rhunön did not lift her eyes from her work as she began to study the curve of the shield intently. "Compared to the long life I have lived, Eragon has only studied underneath me for but a very brief fraction of time," said Rhunön, she turned the shield over tapping the metal with her forefinger. "His presence is always welcomed here in my forge if he were to return to Ellesméra."_

_That was all she said and that was all Arya needed to hear to know that in her own way, Rhunön missed Eragon. He was the only one to be her apprentice. As Rhunön returned to her duties, Arya found herself watching the older woman, a question constantly tumbling through her thoughts, begging to be asked. It was a question in which she should have turned to her mother to seek answers. Yet, the rift between Arya and Islanzadí had kept Arya from asking._

"_Do you think I am too young to want to find ardor?" Arya found herself asking._

_Rhunön abruptly stopped hammering and turned her eyes to Arya then to her surprise, the smith began to laugh in her raspy voice. "I would never have thought you capable of asking such a question," said Rhunön once her laughter had died out. She studied Arya from head to toe. "I do not think you are too young for what you feel. Our people have become too accustomed to using time as an excuse to guard our actions. It is an unseemly view of thinking."_

_She picked up her hammer and continued her earlier pace. "Immortality does not mean that time stops for us. It merely waits."_

Pushing aside her covers, Arya sighed running a hand through her long, dark hair. She checked the timepiece on her bedside table. It was early morning, much earlier than the time for Eragon's departure. _He should be awake, _thought Arya as she stood making her way to her wash closet to ready herself for the day. Half an hour later, she found herself standing outside Eragon's door.

She knocked softly.

With her sensitive ears, she could hear the sound of footsteps. It opened to reveal Eragon. His chestnut hair was damp and his face freshly washed. He only wore breeches with a towel hanging over his shoulder. She'd seen him without a shirt before and would be the first to say that Eragon had a strong physique. This time around, the words _attractive _and _appealing _made its way to the forefront of her thoughts.

"May I join you?"

He smiled at her softly and motioned her inside his quarters. Heart turning in her chest, Arya stepped inside. "Do you often wake so early in the morning?" asked Eragon as he closed the door behind him, reaching up to continue toweling his hair. "It is not even dawn yet."

"Not usually," said Arya trailing after Eragon into his bedroom. She smiled at the sight of Veric curled up in the corner, sleeping. "Today was an exception."

She stared at the bed which was sporting a single pack as well as the case that Eragon had asked Rhunön to forge for him. He went to the bed and wrapped up the case swiftly before taking check of his things. "You will only take a single pack?" asked Arya as she took a seat on the edge of his bed, taking note of the fact that he was going to leave his silver armor behind.

"That is all I need," said Eragon as he left the bedroom only to return with a slim stack of folded parchment.

An object in the center of his bed caught Arya's attention. It was half hidden behind his pack. A circular glass orb rested on the blankets and encased in the glass was the red rose she'd given him. It was picked up by Eragon and wrapped in a black cloth before being placed inside the pack with the rest of his things. The simple action caused her throat to close up. For some reason, Arya felt rather shy after watching him pack away her red rose.

"You are taking the rose with you?" asked Arya eventually, her voice piercing the comfortable silence that had settled over them.

"Apart from my memories, it is the only object of you that I can carry with me," said Eragon simply. He'd given up on drying his wet hair, his towel hanging over his shoulder, forgotten, as he continued to tuck everything away into his pack. After checking that he had everything he needed, Eragon tied his pack, done much earlier than Arya expected. She would have thought he would take perhaps until dawn preparing. It was a long journey from what she came to believe.

"You are not going to prepare more?"

He chuckled at her question, staring at her with a rather soft expression. "I can never manage packing for a long time. It has always been in my nature to hurry when it came to tasks such as preparing for a departure."

Standing from her seat on his bed, she made her way to him. Stopping before Eragon, Arya reached up to take his towel and began to dry his hair for him. "You will take care of yourself, will you?" asked Arya as her fingers touched the side of his head, shifting his hair.

"I will try," Eragon's brown eyes caught hers. "I do not know when but when I return, I hope you will be there to greet me."

"I promise," she stilled her hands, taking a step closer to him. Slipping her hands to his strong shoulders, Arya took a moment to admire his appearance. Eragon had always been handsome to her. She never truly appreciated it until now.

"Is there something on your mind, Arya?" asked Eragon as if he'd read her thoughts. His expression was reassuring. "I will always listen to you."

How did he always know what to say to her? Each moment she'd spent with him, Eragon had an answer for all of her doubts, insecurities, and fears. It was as if he knew her heart and mind even though she'd been careful to keep her thoughts and feelings away from the public eye. Not even her father knew her fully but Eragon did.

"I sometimes think that you know me better than I do," said Arya honestly. A strange emotion flashed in his eyes but he did not say anything. "I was thinking about how beautiful of a person you are."

"I am far from beautiful," said Eragon in amusement.

She smiled and slowly, not wanting to startle Eragon, leaned up to kiss him. It was a soft kiss to which Eragon responded to, his hands finding purchase on her waist. There it was again. For some reason, Eragon just _knew _how to hold her in his arms. He didn't hesitate nor was he cautious. She ignored the thought and stepped closer to him, until their bodies were flushed against each other. His skin was hot and it was heating her own.

"Did you know that you have a very distinct taste?" asked Eragon as his eyes opened to stare down at her when they parted moments later.

Arya laughed, shaking her head. "What do I taste like?"

"Sweeter than berries and intoxicating like faelnirv," answered Eragon.

Before she could stop herself, she was reaching up once more. Her hands shifted from his shoulders to his hair, pulling him down to roughly meet her lips. His words inflamed her. It was all so new to be complimented in such a way. Only Eragon knew how she tasted and it made her body flush with pleasure at the thought.

She did not know how much time passed but it was when they heard a surprised gasp at the door of Eragon's bedroom did she pull away from him. Somehow, Arya had ended up cushioned against the wall with Eragon's arms wrapped about her and her hands resting on his chest. They both turned their eyes to the person at the door and Arya nearly wanted to close her eyes and sigh.

Angela stood there, staring at them with wide eyes, her mouth slightly agape. Then her eyes turned to Eragon, bewildered. The questions in Angela's expression made Arya wary. She wasn't certain why but it did.

Eragon pulled away from her, taking his warmth with him. Arya took this moment to straighten her appearance. She trusted Eragon to handle Angela, he was the only one who could handle the witch without losing.

"Have you heard of knocking, Angela?" asked Eragon as he made his way to his drawers to pull out an emerald tunic, pulling it over his head.

"Forgive me if I wanted to see you how you were faring before you left," said Angela without much offense. Her eyes darted to Arya and a sly smile appeared on her face. "I see that Arya is here to see you off privately."

"If you are here to tease—" Eragon began as he started lacing up his boots.

"No, no," Angela waved her hand, but the smile never left her face. "I came to give you a gift before you depart. It is not along the lines of Arya's, however."

"For which I am glad," said Eragon as he finished lacing his second boot, moving to strap Brisingr to his waist and Vrangr to his back. Arya took a seat on Eragon's bed once more as he ran a hand through his very messy hair, raising a brow at Angela. "Well, what is it?"

"Here," Angela handed him a sable cloak. When Eragon did not say anything, she began to explain in a bright tone. "I happen to come across this while I was wandering about the markets of Farthen Dûr. An ancient dwarf family from Dûrgrimst Vrenshrrgn—"

"Did you steal this?" asked Eragon before Angela could finish. "I would have you know that I am well acquainted with Grimstborith Íorûnn. If you stole something from her clan—"

"I did not steal it," rebuffed Angela with a scathing look in Eragon's direction. "I won it in a contest of riddles. The dwarf selling it thought he could win me of my prized blade, Albitr. I gave him quite the challenge, however."

Eragon did not look like he believed her and Arya could not blame him. Angela had a way of spinning events her way. As Eragon examined the cloak, Arya could not help but wonder how _well _acquainted Eragon was with Grimstborith Íorûnn. She would have to ask him when he returned. She knew that he was friends with King Hrothgar and his adopted son, Orik, both of whom Arya conversed with occasionally. But she did not know him to be close with any of the other dwarf clan leaders.

"What does it do?" asked Arya curiously. Eragon passed the cloak to her to allow her to examine.

"That cloak is imbued with magic," said Angela, looking rather pleased with herself. "It was said that the spirits blessed it and its wearer from enemy sight. I believe you will be well hidden if you were to wear this cloak before your enemies."

"And he would give up such a prized possession to you?" asked Eragon as Arya returned the cloak to him so that he could pack it away.

"The defeated always pay handsomely out of pride more so than obligation," said Angela wisely. Eragon shook his head. Then, Angela turned her attention to Arya. "And how have you been as of late, Arya? I see you and Eragon are together now?"

"Yes," Arya's eyes darted to Eragon but he was busy coaxing Veric awake.

"Let me be the first to congratulate the two of you," said Angela, she glanced at the timepiece of Eragon's bedside table. "And I believe it is time for you to depart, Eragon. There are those waiting to see you off at the west gate."

"I will be there," said Eragon shortly as he rapped Veric on the head roughly. "_Wake up, Veric."_

"Well then, Arya would you like to accompany me?" suggested Angela. Arya nodded, she stood moving to door, stopping when she heard Eragon's voice call her name. Turning around, she was about to answer him only to be silenced when he kissed her briefly. She heard Angela's amused chuckle behind her but gave it no thought.

"I shall see you at the gate," murmured Arya when they broke apart. With that said, she left Eragon's quarters with Angela, surprised that the herbalist had yet to make a teasing remark about what she'd just seen. Instead, Angela appeared rather serious as she spoke to her.

"I am happy that you and Eragon found each other," said Angela. "Despite him leaving on a rather long journey."

"Do you know what it is that he is doing? Or where it is that he is going?" asked Arya. She had a feeling that Angela might know what Eragon had planned. The two of them were close friends despite the way they interacted with each other.

"No," said Angela, her wiry hair bouncing as she shook her head. "I do know that as much as Eragon is doing this for the Varden, he is also doing this for _you. _He has been trying his best to watch out for _you. _I hope that one day you will understand his feelings."

"I understand," said Arya, thrown off guard by Angela's confusing words.

The herbalist shot her a reassuring look. "You will see what I am speaking of one day."

The two of them soon reached the west gate where a small group was waiting for Eragon. Several groups of guards stood about the perimeter of the gathering, keeping alert for anyone that would dare to stir trouble. Arya and Angela came to a stop beside Formora, who for once looked serious. Her dragon was nowhere to be seen. Amongst the group, Arya spotted King Hrothgar, Orik, Deynor, Brant, Serafina, Rosalie, Fäolin, and Glenwing.

Her guards immediately made their way to her side when they caught sight of her. "Good morning, Arya," said Glenwing, his voice warm. Fäolin smiled at her as he relayed the same sentiment.

"You were not in your quarters when we came to look for you," said Glenwing after Arya had greeted them in return. "We thought you might come here to see Eragon off."

"Arya was rather occupied this morning," said Angela with a slight smirk. Arya shot the short woman a look but said nothing to incur any more of her teasing. She could feel Fäolin staring at her but avoided his look. She did not want to see his disappointment if he found out that she was with Eragon.

Instead, she turned her eyes to Formora, studying the Forsworn. Formora was in love with Eragon. She knew it because Formora had once told her. What would that do to their relationship? She and the Forsworn were friends, in an odd sense of the word. Despite her past, Arya trusted Formora. Yet, the two of them were attracted to the same person. Formora had been attracted to Eragon for reasons Arya wasn't. She liked his arrogance and his aloof nature while Arya had been attracted to Eragon's kindness and his strong will. It was an odd thought to contemplate.

She stood there conversing in quiet tones with Glenwing and Angela until Eragon appeared a short while later with Veric trailing behind him. He gave the Shrrg a sharp look when he was upon them and after a rather pitiful nudge at Eragon's leg, Veric slinked over to where Arya stood, looking forlorn.

"This is where we part ways," said Deynor with a sad smile as he reached out to shake Eragon's hand. When he released it, he handed him a pouch that Arya could only assume was filled with crowns for his journey if he were to find himself in the boundaries of the Empire. "Travel safely my friend. I will do my best to guide the Varden without my most trusted advisor by my side."

"I know you will," said Eragon as he pocketed the pouch. He then moved on to say his farewells to the others, keeping it brief but heartfelt. After receiving an embrace from Formora, Eragon stopped before her. Arya could only stare up into his eyes. Before everyone else, she did not know how to act but the reassuring look in his eyes gave her all the strength that she needed.

Reaching forward, Arya took his face in her hands and leaned up to kiss him on his brow. "Be safe on your journey, Eragon. I will be waiting here for you."

"I will," said Eragon softly.

Rather reluctantly, Arya released her hold on him and watched as he received several pats on the back from Angela, the last person to say her farewells. Then she was watching as he walked away from them into the dark tunnel that stretched westward towards Surda and the southernmost end of the Empire. When his figure disappeared in the darkness, the gates closed with a resounding thud. It was as if to remind Arya that Eragon was no longer at the Varden and that her greatest source of comfort was now gone. Her heart clenched. She would have to believe that he was going to come back as he'd promised her. There was much she had to learn about her own feelings when it came to Eragon.

Beside her, Veric lifted his head to nudge her hand as if to express his own longing for Eragon. She stroked his head softly. "I will miss him, too," said Arya gently. She amended herself, her emerald eyes still trained on the closed gate. "I already miss him."

**You know I finished this chapter last night but slept all the way until 1:30 and just woke up to post it for you all before I forget to do so. In any case, there is the Arya POV you all wished for. Though I liked to tease you all about Faolin and Arya in the earlier chapters, I'd always intended Arya to choose Eragon over Faolin and I tried to lay out all the reasons for her being more inclined to Eragon than she was Faolin. There have been subtle and not so subtle interactions between the two of them that has led her to this point. And Arya's still young when it comes to romance so she's just stumbling along with how she feels while Eragon would be the one with more experience between them, therefore her character will appear OC in this more so than the other chapters. I wouldn't count on it being flowers from now on for them. There's still a lot for Eragon to do and for Arya to later learn about. ****Anyways, see you all soon!**


	47. Chapter 46

**Chapter 46**

**Back with another chapter! This time, it's Eragon all on his own. I just have an announcement to make in this A/N. Don't worry, it's nothing bad. Starting from this chapter on, I have a Beta-Reader, revising and editing my work before I upload it. That very same person is also going to be working on fixing RL. I just like the thought of having someone else proofread my work before others read it, you know? Moving on, this chapter doesn't have much dialogue and there aren't any important characters apart from Eragon, mainly. Hopefully, you all will still enjoy it. R&R.**

Shifting the pack on his back, Eragon continued to walk down the dirt road, keeping well to himself. It was added effort on his part, since the cloak that Angela gave him was warding people off well enough. The magic that was sown into the cloak was not obvious. It made those about him less aware of his presence, as if he wasn't anyone special to look at. Those who had no protection against magic did not notice him at all, and if they looked straight at him, their eyes would slide over his form as if seeing straight through him.

Walking past a group of soldiers, he inwardly smirked when they did not question him. Instead, they continued to talk amongst themselves about such topics as the harsh taxes on the people, how they did not like their new commander, and how they could not wait to go see the girls at the wayfarer's tavern. At the mention the barmaids, Eragon's mind wandered back to Arya and the brief moment he had spent with her.

He was content with how it had happened. After all those years of waiting, she had come to him on her own. She was shy and nervous but in her interactions he thought he saw a part of the Arya he knew within her nonetheless. The rose she'd given him was wrapped up carefully in his pack, the glass reinforced with magic to keep it from breaking. During the night, Eragon would take it in hand and stare at it, remembering the short moment he had enjoyed with Arya before leaving. It was hard to think that he had lived without her love for over eighty years and had coped. Now, after having heard her confession, he found it even harder to be away from her.

Apart from his longing for Arya, the thought of the convergence kept barging its way to the forefront of his thoughts. What would happen when and if he was born in this Alagaësia? Had he effectively taken away Arya from him? Eragon firmly believed that any version of himself would love Arya, just as she loved him in this time — or was coming to love him. He felt guilty, and it was this guilt that tainted the contentment of being together with Arya. His guilt, combined with his lies to Arya, made it hard for him to freely express his affections for her.

_Not that it stopped you before you left, _thought Eragon, mentally berating himself. He had held her in his arms and kissed her without restraint. Even if their histories were different, the Arya in this Alagaësia and the one from the other were becoming slightly more similar. He could see it in both her actions and her words. The last vestiges of the young maiden she once was in Ellesméra had disappeared altogether, to be replaced with someone who could stand beside the leader of the Varden and guide them if needed. He smiled, pride suffusing his limbs at how far Arya had come.

Moving away from a pair of travelers, Eragon continued walking, resisting the urge to pull his hood over his head. Even after changing his features so that they became rounded to look like a human's, he felt uncomfortable, and wanted nothing more than to change it back and draw his hood up to hide his face. The risk of comfort was still too much for him to carry out such. Even though he was born a human, he felt out of place when he looked like one. He had lived too long as an elf.

As he continued to walk, keeping to a slow human pace, he couldn't keep his irritation down. He was used to running from place to place. It made traveling much easier, especially whenever he traveled between Surda and the Varden. Now, he had to walk slowly, to avoid detection. He had contemplated not taking the main road but it was too risky. Most travelers took the main road because it was fairly guarded, with patrols walking about. If he traveled off of the road, it would certainly show that he was more capable than a regular traveler.

The necessary attention only made his journey harder. Continuing to walk, he pulled his cloak closer to his body, making sure that both Vrangr and Brisingr were adequately covered as a breeze lightly shifted the fabric of the cloak.

It was late in the evening when the sight of Belatona appeared on the horizon, the large city appearing miniscule in the distance. He pulled his cloak together around his body, his eyes taking in the people before him and those behind him. It was a smart choice for him to have picked traveling on a trade route. None of the soldiers guarding Belatona would question him if he blended in with the crowd sufficiently upon entrance into the city.

Night was falling when Eragon and a group of weary travelers came before the gates. The guard, a tall man with a square face and hook nose studied them, his eyes sliding right over Eragon as he did so. His lips twitched. "Be warned that crimes will not be tolerated in the city of Belatona! Lord Bradburn does not show mercy to criminals! You lot better understand how to abide by the law, unless you wish to be kept in the stables with the rest of the filth that crawls the alleyways of the city!"

There was a low murmur of obedience from the group. Eragon kept his mouth closed. He had an urge to laugh. Bradburn was rather young at the moment — barely in his second decade — and he was already commanding this much obedience from his subjects. If only he realized that it was Galbatorix that held true authority, while he was just a willing puppet, subjecting himself to the Black King's will.

"Go in!" The guard yelled, waving them inside. "The gates will be closing in an hour's time and they shall not open until the morning rises. The wayfarer's house is down the main street."

Careful not to bump into anyone as he walked, Eragon sighed inwardly in relief as the guards gave no notice to him. It was easy to blend into the crowd when no one knew about him. In his other life, walking about as Eragon Shadeslayer without being detected was far more difficult.

The streets of Belatona were nearly empty, with just a few city inhabitants wandering about. Some carried bottles in their hands, stumbling about before falling into a dark alley, while others stood hunched together, wearing rags and seemingly sharing in each other's poverty and misery.

_Only the impoverished, the starved, and the hearthless walk the streets of the Empire, _thought Eragon, as his eyes caught sight of the wayfarer's tavern. Keeping to the left side of the street, he walked up the steps to the tavern and pushed open the door. It was crowded inside, large masses of bodies hunched around tables and a line of people — mostly men — sat at the bar, laughing and drinking. There were no soldiers about, for which he was grateful.

Carefully weaving in and out between the bodies, he discreetly shoved a drunkard off his seat as he tried to grab one of the barmaids indecently. His friends, who were already laughing at his actions, instantly roared with laughter at the sight of him toppled from his chair, confused and dazed as to how he ended up on the ground.

"Look at him, Bret!" A large, burly man yelled, swinging his tankard of liqueur.

"A charming one he is, isn't he?" The man named Bret answered, face and neck red.

Judging from the dirt on their clothes and their strong arms, Eragon could only assume that they were farmers, coming into the tavern to drink to their hearts' content. They were no doubt drowning their hardships away. Unlike the Varden, the Empire was suffering another drought and from what he had gathered, a cold winter was on its way — the coldest winter the Empire had endured in years.

"That's enough from you two," the fallen man grumbled, standing on his feet, stumbling as he did so. For good measure, Eragon smoothly scooted the stool away from the man, watching as he tumbled onto his behind as he took a seat. This set his friends off once more.

Smirking slightly, Eragon approached the busy owner of the tavern, watching as she poured a new tankard of mead for a crowded table of young men. Tapping her on the shoulder, Eragon was glad when she took notice of him. The others in the tavern had barely glanced his way. He would guess that Angela's cloak would allow him to remain hidden from those he didn't want to be seen by, but would allow him contact with others if he chose to, and was all the more grateful to her because of this.

"I would like a room for the night," said Eragon softly, holding out a pouch of crowns for her. She took it, her eyes widening at the weight. Without another word, she handed him a key from the four that hung on a circular hoop attached to her waist.

"Third door on the right," she told him, pocketing the pouch of gold. Then she eyed him. "If you want something to eat or drink, you can take a seat at the bar. There aren't any tables left."

"Thank you," said Eragon, taking the key in hand. He did not linger on the ground floor. About to leave, he stopped when he heard the young men speaking.

"Bradburn's lost it, I tell you," said one of the men, raking a hand through his dark hair, looking frustrated and pitiful.

"Not Bradburn," another one of his friends said. "It's Galbatorix. For a man so powerful, he is certainly rather cowardly. Have you seen Urû'baen? The city is guarded all around with huge walls. The place is impenetrable."

"Only entrance is through the one gate at the front," said another friend, his blond hair stark in the dim room. Glancing about, Eragon decided to stand in a corner close to the table, his interest sparked by the young men's conversation.

"No matter how strong the Varden is, no one can destroy those walls," said another, eating a loaf of bread without much spirit. "Least not without having arrows and hot oil rain down on them. Only way they could get through would be by having a dragon to fly over with."

"They have that Forsworn," said the first man. Eragon twitched at the mention of Formora, he had not known if her presence was common knowledge in the Empire like Morzan's was. Apparently even after spending so many years with the Varden, Formora was not forgotten.

"Only a matter of time before she gets what's coming to her," said the blond haired man. He snorted. "Galbatorix does not take lightly to traitors."

"He won't go looking for her," the one eating bread paused, his eyes narrowed as he stared at a point on the table with such intensity that Eragon thought he wanted to will the wood to set aflame. "It'll just be a waste of his time."

"Like you would know, Rich," the dark haired man laughed, sending his friend a ridiculous look. Then as if realizing that they had better things to speak of than from Galbatorix and Formora, they laughed and began a new conversation this time involving farm girls and courtship. Hearing the turn of conversation, Eragon pushed himself away from the wall. He'd heard enough.

Finding the stairs along the opposite wall of the tavern, Eragon tried not to scowl at the narrowed steps. There was a distinct difference between them and those designed by the dwarves. The steps creaked very little underneath his weight, the dust that was piled up on the wood blanketing the sounds of his footsteps. When he was at the top step, he ducked a little to avoid hitting a handing lamp. The candle was nearly extinguished, with only enough wax left to last a few more minutes.

Finding the third door on the right, he placed his key into the keyhole and turned it, hearing the lock give way. He pushed the door open to find a narrow bedroom that consisted only of a bed and a nightstand. Eragon closed the door behind him, locking and warding it for good measure. Placing his pack on the bed, he undid his cloak, tossing it over the pillows. It was still early, and he needed to wait until the dead of night to infiltrate Bradburn's keep.

Taking his seat on the bed, Eragon took note of the lumpy mattress and the moth-eaten blanket but did not comment on it. He would be expecting too much if he said that he had hoped for a room that was comparable to what he was used to living in. After a long moment, Eragon reached into his pack to pull out the glass orb, unwrapping it from the black cloth which he had placed it in.

Whenever he was resting for the night, he would take it out and stare at it. As always, when he studied the flower, a myriad of emotions flooded him, happiness and guilt being the two defining feelings. He was happy that Arya was coming to feel strongly for him, as he did for her. But he was also guilty at the thought that he was deceiving Arya. Everything he told her about himself was half-truth, half-lie. It felt as if he didn't deserve her affections, but he was too selfish to deny himself her feelings. Then there was also his own Arya. Was she still living in the other Alagaësia? Did that world even exist anymore? Was this betrayal?

_The two of them are both Arya, _thought Eragon, feeling a sharp pain enter his mind at the confusing thoughts, _yet they are different. I have known this Arya far longer than my own Arya. Yet, I loved my Arya first._

Eragon took in a deep breath and released it, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. Not for the first time, a bitter thought struck him.

_I wish that Saphira were here, she would understand how I feel._

But she wasn't. The pain of not having her presence had never left him over the years, and he had always tried not to think about it. Being busy with his duties helped to take his mind off such things. It still wasn't completely successful, however, for at random moments, he would find himself longing for her. Worse yet, whenever Saphira entered his mind, Arya and his family would closely follow. Spinning the glass orb in his hands, he admired the red rose for a long time, thinking of Arya and how sweet her kisses had been. Sweet and innocent, because she lacked experience. She'd initiated the kiss, but it was Eragon who had led her. It showed another difference between this Arya and the other Arya.

The calling of crows caused him to divert his attention from the orb in his hands. Wrapping it up, he returned it to the pack, pulling out the armor that Rhunön had forged for him. He took a moment to admire the armor. As the years went by, contemporary armor was becoming more and more similar to the armor that he was used to seeing in his original time. The style was slowly changing. Rather than to defend against brute force, the armor that was being forged was to prevent piercings of different types of weapons.

Pulling on his armor, he donned the helm last. Testing the weight, Eragon strode back and forth in the small room. It was light, allowing him to easily move about without creating too much noise. He casted a spell about his feet to muffle the small sound that they made. Strapping his weapons to his back, he stretched slightly. It had been some time since he'd worn armor, longer still since he had covered his entire body in it.

Grabbing the wrapped case, Eragon tied the cloth about his back, strapping the rectangular object to him. It made reaching for Vrangr more difficult, in case he needed to use his sword. However, Eragon was not planning on needing either of his swords tonight. He was not going to kill anyone, for that would only arouse suspicion. Stealing the Dauthdaert from Bradburn without leaving so much a clue was the only way to be sure. He needed overdo it.

Checking that his door was locked and secure, Eragon glanced out the window, biding his time. It was in the dark of night and the streets were empty and covered in darkness, with the exception of the faint orbs of light that came from the lanterns the guards used for patrolling. Opening the window, Eragon reached up to grip the ledge. With ease, he pulled himself up and swung upwards, releasing his hands as his feet made contact with the edge of the roof. Using the strength of his torso, he easily pulled himself up.

Steady atop the roof, he glanced down to make certain that no one had seen him. The empty main street greeted his gaze. Shifting the case on his back, Eragon stood and began to jump from roof to roof with lithe grace, running swiftly and quietly. The shade of his armor was dark, so he did not have to worry about being easily spotted from the ground, but he was careful to make sure that he did not cause any noise to alert others, whether they be in the buildings he ran atop of or the guards patrolling in the streets.

Within time, he reached the gate that led into the keep, a wall protecting it from intruders. Atop the parapet, groups of soldiers patrolled back and forth, lanterns lit every few yards, casting a dim glow in the sky. Ducking behind a peaked roof, Eragon peered around it. The patrol pattern seemed random from what he observed. They did not go about the parapet in an organized schedule, but wandered back and forth, stopping to observe the ground when they deemed fit or conversing with each other. Unable to find a specific route that would take him over the gate and into the keep without being noticed, Eragon settled for the one thing that would always be his advantage when it came to regular humans: magic.

Whispering the ancient language quietly underneath his breath, he felt the air about him shimmer, successfully cloaking him as his appearance disappeared from sight. Maintaining the spell, Eragon ran forward and jumped, murmuring the ancient language underneath his breath once more and propelling himself onto the parapet where he landed quietly. Crouching, Eragon took one last look about him and began to run quietly along the parapet, his eyes trying to find a decent vantage point to land on. It took him a while and several narrow dodges of soldiers before he found a tall spire that was situated close to the parapet.

Without another word, he launched himself over the edge. Bending his knees, a quiet grunt left him when he landed on the roof. The thud that his impact made caused him to still and glance up at the parapet. The group of soldiers patrolling were still far away, having stopped to observe something on the other side of the wall. Keeping still, he released the spell. Wasting that much energy wasn't a good approach to stealing the Dauthdaert.

_Now, where will Bradburn hide a family heirloom?_

The thought loomed in Eragon's mind. He could try to use his mind to search for it, but he didn't want to alert any magicians that could be within the keep. Deciding to be safe rather than sorry, Eragon began to edge along the roof, still in his crouched position. Seeing a drop to the roof of the keep, he fell down, landing harder than he'd intended.

"What was that?" His supernatural hearing was able to pick up the alarmed voice of the guard on the ground, several feet below him.

Instantly, Eragon crouched inward, keeping still and praying that the night would be enough to shelter him. Below, he could see two guards looking directly up at him, their hands on the hilt of their swords. Searching for the source of the disturbance, the guard that had spoken dropped his hand to his side with a scowl.

"Must have been them birds," he said, then in a more aggravated voice, "Bradburn and his damned gargoyles."

"Aye, they look fearsome enough as it is in the day. At night, though, they could give anyone nightmares," his friend agreed, the two of them walking off as they muttered about how Bradburn had an unusual desire to portray himself as intimidating and strong, only to come off as paranoid.

_A gargoyle?_

Eragon smirked slightly at being mistaken for one. Making sure that no one was about, he continued about the roof of the keep, trying to find a way in that would not alert anyone to his presence. Bradburn, Eragon knew, lived in a chamber on the east side of the keep on the upper floor. His guess was that Bradburn would stow his treasures in the lower level, where the storage area was. If a thief did try to break into the keep, it would be difficult to escape, with only one exit and entrance to the basements.

Running in his crouched position about the keep, he glanced down at the courtyard, noting a particular area where the rose bushes could cover him easily from the guards. Eyes darting about to make sure that none of them were in the area, Eragon dropped down, this time using magic to lighten his impact. Landing behind the bushes, he was momentarily distracted by the sight of red roses, which led his mind instantly to Arya and how her lips had felt on his.

_Focus, _Eragon instantly reprimanded himself, as he caught himself before his train of thought could derail any further. Pushing all thoughts of Arya to the back of his mind for the moment, he brushed the bush out of his line of sight. One of the many side doors that led into the keep was unguarded.

Quietly sprinting towards the door, Eragon lifted his hand, whispering underneath his breath, "_Mor'amr._"

The door eased up. Sprinting inside, he closed the door behind him, taking in the semi-dark halls that became light with candles every feet few. The moonlight that flooded in from the large windows stripped away another layer of darkness. He could be seen easily if he wasn't careful.

Remembering the layout of Bradburn's keep, Eragon hurried quietly down the hallway towards the spiral staircase he knew that was at the end of it. Not encountering anyone on his way, he pushed the door open, listening for hear any footsteps coming up or going down. Silence greeted his ears. Descending the spiral steps, he closed the door behind him an, for the first time since he'd entered the keep, he tentatively reached out with his mind to see if there was anyone in the lower level. There was not a soul.

_Bradburn must be more worried about guarding those getting in to the keep than the possibility of someone successfully sneaking in past his defenses, _thought Eragon, glad that he was dealing with a very simple-minded man. Bradburn was confident that no one would be able to make it past the gate without alerting him. It was true that a normal human could not have done what Eragon did, but Bradburn shouldn't be guarding against regular humans. He should be guarding against the likes of Eragon.

Conjuring a werelight with the use of magic, he lifted it up high up to the basement ceiling, taking note of the small amount of doors on the lower level. Opening the door on the far left from the stairs, he stared inside. It was a wine cellar, with racks upon racks of wine bottles. Closing the door behind him, he went to look at the other rooms. After trying his third door, Eragon found himself standing before double wooden doors that were thick in width.

He pushed on them. The doors did not budge.

Locked.

Unsheathing Brisingr, he slid the thin blade through the slight gap of the doors and pushed down. There was no resistance to the blade of Brisingr. Sheathing his sword, he pushed once more. The doors opened this time with little resistance. Pushing inside, Eragon was met with a treasury. His eyes took in the gold stacked in piles, the jewelry boxes and the fine clothing. The one thing that stood out to him the most was the stand that stood against the opposite wall from the entrance, positioned so that the person entering could not miss it. Ignoring all the other valuables in the room, Eragon walked up to the stand and pulled at the case, stopping when it did not give.

There was another lock on it.

A slither of air followed by a clash of metal sounded through the silent atmosphere as Eragon used Brisingr to cut off the lock. He would fix it when he took the Dauthdaert. Sheathing Brisingr, he lifted the lid open to reveal an emerald-hued lance, the barb of the weapon glowing an eerie green. Reaching down, he gripped the handle of the Dauthdaert, lifting it from its place in the case.

_Niernen, the Orchid, _thought Eragon remembering how Arya had commented on the ugly mismatch between the weapon and its name. Twelve of the most dangerous weapons known to dragons were named after twelve of the most beautiful flowers. He turned the weapon, a mix between a lance and a spear, taking in the ancient glyphs that were embedded in its surface. He would allow Formora to hold onto the weapon for now. He did not want Arya to feel any unease about safekeeping a weapon made to kill dragons, the revered race of her people. Formora, more than anyone, would understand how to keep such a dangerous weapon safe.

Returning the Dauthdaert to its case, Eragon untied the cloth from his back to reveal the case that Rhunön had forged for him. Transferring the weapon from its original case into his, Eragon rewrapped it and retied it to his back. With that dealt with, he carefully fixed the lock on the original case so that no one would suspect any thievery until the case was opened. Exiting the treasury, he took another moment to fix the lock on the doors. When he was done, Eragon pushed against the wood, nodding when it did not budge. There were no signs of a break-in.

Without another word, he made his way out of the lower level, extinguishing the werelight as he took to the stairs. Rather than exiting at the ground floor, he continued upwards until he reached the topmost floor. Finding the closest window he could, he slid it open and pulled himself up onto the roof, reaching down to close it below him. All he had to do now was make his way back to the tavern to change, and by early morn, he could leave without arousing any suspicion.

Fifteen minutes later, he was climbing back into his room through the window. Safely inside, he closed the window behind him, pulling the blinds closed so that no one could see inside. He pulled his helm off a moment later, settling it on the bed. It was closely followed by the case and his swords.

That was easier than he had expected. He had never considered himself a thief, nor even stealthy for that matter, but it seemed as if he could be if he wanted to. Tugging off the rest of his armor, he pulled on his traveling clothes. Careful not to make too much noise, Eragon returned his armor back into the pack and turned his attention to the case. He had Niernen now. Even though there was a tunnel leading into Urû'baen, having the Dauthdaert with him would make it easier for him to take the eggs from Galbatorix without the king realizing. Niernen was imbued with ancient magic that could cut past wards without any trouble. It also allowed the holder to make it past wards without being harmed or detected. Niernen, combined with Eragon's knowledge of Galbatorix's personality, was what gave him the advantage over Hefring. He would not balk from the challenge nor would he flee when danger arose. There was also the matter of Umaroth and his companions. If the dragon made contact with Eragon, he was going to have to tell Umaroth about his secrets, so that they could watch over Alagaësia if Eragon could not in the near future.

He could only hope that when the Eldunarí found out about his secret they would not think that he was overstepping his bounds, as he overturned the laws of magic and reality to make a better future. Placing his pack and the case with Niernen in it on the ground, he took a seat on the bed, his eyes moving to Brisingr and Vrangr.

After a long moment, he wrapped the swords up in his cloak and set them on the bedside table. Strong as he was, he still had to sleep so that he could travel to Urû'baen and take the eggs from Galbatorix. Not bothering to cover himself with the blanket, he merely turned on his side, closing his eyes to drift off into his dream state.

The next morning, after returning the key to the owner, Eragon had left the city of Belatona, smirking slightly at how Bradburn was going to allow his prized possession to walk out of the city gates right underneath his watchful eyes. Back to traveling on the main road, Eragon allowed his thoughts to wander. It was mainly so that he could keep himself occupied. He'd been too used with living with the Varden that traveling alone made him feel disconnected.

_I wonder what Arya is doing, _thought Eragon. He would scry her but the task would have been fruitless. He had mentioned to Arya when she had first joined the Varden that she had to protect herself from not only the enemies before her but the ones who were hidden. She had listened to him and then used spells to protect her from being seen or heard by scrying. It limited Eragon's knowledge of what Arya was doing whenever he wanted to check up on her, but he rather have her movements hidden than someone like Galbatorix actively tracking her.

Continuing his pace in the northern direction, he scowled when he was forced to step out of the way as a group of soldiers on horses came galloping past. He had an urge to pick up the nearest rock and throw it through the lead soldier's helm but thought better of it.

_Bard and Desdemona should be a few years old now, _thought Eragon, as he took in the soldiers' uniform. Finny was yet to be born. He would have to find a way to recruit them when they were old enough. If he still existed in this Alagaësia by then, he would go and fetch them himself. His mind wandered to Rosalie. She was inconspicuous enough to walk about the Empire without being hindered. Her beauty may attract the attention of more than one person but she was strong and intelligent enough to handle herself. Perhaps Angela might be able to help? Eragon perished the thought as soon as it entered his mind. He had a separate task for Angela to complete for him.

Angela was the only person who could do so for him because she was not devoted to anyone herself. That made her hard to control but reliable and trustworthy. No one could get the best of Angela, she would be the one for the task. Eragon knew it without a doubt. The only problem would be in asking her. He hoped his friendship with her would be enough for her to agree to his request.

When evening fell, Eragon veered off from the road. There were no nearby cities and he didn't want to risk being located too close to the road. The possibilities of being attacked by bandits made him wary. He was not afraid of them but he would rather avoid any unnecessary confrontations. Night was falling when Eragon found a place in the woods where he could rest. The animals would keep away because he smelt strange to them, and he had an inkling that no brave traveler would dare attempt to enter the woods at night out of fear for their own safety.

Settling himself down, he placed his things beside him, pulling out an apple to eat. He had bought it while he was at Belatona. The thought of eating leaves wasn't appealing and he was glad that he had the forethought to buy some food before leaving the city.

Crunching on the apple, Eragon savored the sweet taste. Staring at the grass about him, he felt a slight smile reach his lips. Tossing the finished apple to the side, he reached forward, plucking several handfuls of grass from the ground, and with deft fingers he began to weave an image of a dragon. It had a slight resemblance to Eridor, but it lacked details due to its miniature size. When he was finished, he smiled at the dragon made from grass and with a few whispered words watched as the dragon came to life, taking flight in the direction of Surda.

He hadn't written anything to Arya but he could only hope that when she saw the dragon, she would be reassured. His lack of explanation to her about his journey had worried her and he did not want her to continue worrying needlessly. His smile widened as he thought of her reaction to his silent message. She would be relieved, no doubt.

Moving to lie on the ground, Eragon sighed and went to close his eyes. Suddenly, a stinging pain shot through his chest, winding its way to every nerve ending in his body. Quietly gasping at the painful but familiar sensation, he struggled to breathe. It was as if the entire world was closing in on him, threatening to suffocate him. Letting his head fall to the ground, a grunt left him as his entire being began to fall. The ground below him no longer existed, replaced by an endless abyss.

Struggling to keep his eyes open, Eragon gritted his teeth as he kept falling, a strange sensation washing over his body. Unable to fight it, his eyes fluttered closed, blanketing him in a world of darkness.

_He could feel water underneath him, its cool touch startling him awake. Eyes flying open, Eragon groaned at the sudden pain he felt in his head. Reaching up with his right hand to rub his temples, he glanced about, taking in the gray atmosphere and wispy rivers of emerald that pierced the surface of the water, twisting and curling about itself only to disappear back into the water and reappear at another location. The rivers appeared disjointed but he knew that they were connected._

This was…

_Just as the thought was forming in his mind, the sound of footsteps reached him. He turned his head in the direction of the sound, seeing the silhouette of a slim figure making its way towards him. Eragon moved to his knees, still too pained to stand fully. His eyes were trained on the person walking towards him and his fingers itched towards his weapons only to find that they were not on his person._

_The person came close, their figure becoming clearer. He took notice of the long hair that shifted as the person walked. It was a woman from what he could see by the slender curves of their body. The person continued to move closer, her gait even and graceful. Eragon took in the leather boots that stopped at her knees, the leather clothes that hugged her slender body, and the ebony tresses that framed a beautiful face. But what took his breath away were her emerald eyes that stared at him with such familiarity that he knew that she was _his. _Catching sight of Eragon's stunned look, she smiled, her red lips curving upwards in a tender smile._

"_I have missed you, Eragon," she said in the ancient language, her voice soft and her eyes bright with emotions._

_He kneeled there, staring at her with wide eyes. His heart was pounding in his chest and his blood rushed through his veins. In a breathless whisper, Eragon spoke, watching as her smile trembled as if she was holding back her emotions at the sound of his voice._

"_Arya…"_

**I've been dying to write the last part of this chapter. I'm actually really excited to write the next chapter. I'll get working on it as soon as I can. I've been busy doing work lately so that's been impeding my update time. In regards to the chapter, I think I'll leave the ending up to you guys to think about. Well, at least until the next chapter anyways, I'm not that cruel. ****In any case, see you all soon!**


	48. Chapter 47

**Chapter 47**

**Sorry for the late update everyone! So this chapter will hopefully explain everything with TMF and the direction it's going in. In my head it made sense, but if it doesn't I'll try to explain in the A/N of the next chapter. I'm actually very interested to see the reactions you all have to this chapter. I had this plot thought out for the longest time so I won't be changing it any time soon. There really isn't anything left for me to say about the chapter except for enjoy. R&R!**

_He was unable to say anything after that. Instead, he just kneeled and stared at the beautiful vision before him. His mind was unable to form any coherent thought but Arya wasn't bothered by his lack of words. If anything, her emerald eyes sparkled as she sank to her knees before him, her arms coming forward to slide about his neck, pulling him closer to her so that she could embrace him._

_The two of them didn't say anything as they knelt there together. Eragon was unable to think of anything apart from the fact that Arya was embracing him. He ignored the fact that they were in Alagaësia's sanctuary. He ignored the fact that his physical body was lying somewhere in a forest. He ignored everything apart from Arya. A long moment passed before Eragon finally moved. With hesitant movements, he reached up and wrapped his arms about Arya, glad that he could and that this wasn't a figment of his imagination._

_Feeling her warmth underneath his fingers, he pulled her closer to him, brushing his nose into her hair. He didn't know what happened or how he ended up in Alagaësia's sanctuary without using Vrangr but he would worry about that particular concern later. When she pulled away from him, he took a moment to study her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright as she placed a hand on either side of his face. Her lips parted and a name that he hadn't told anyone in this Alagaësia left her in a soft breath._

_His reaction to her soft spoken words was instantaneous. His heart sped up in his chest, his breath quickened, and a shiver coursed through his body. It was as if someone had taken cold water and poured it on him, drenching him. It was a shock to hear Arya say his true name once more. Without another word, she pulled him towards her, kissing him full on the lips. It wasn't shy or inexperienced like the kisses he'd shared with the Arya in this Alagaësia. Rather, the kiss was thorough and deep for this Arya knew how to kiss him and most importantly, she knew him. There were no lies between the two of them and that was why they understood each other so well._

_Returning her kiss, he pulled her closer to him, trying to reach for all of her at once. Sliding a hand into her hair, he sighed against her soft lips. As her fingers curled in Eragon's hair, he tensed as a feeling of shame and guilt washed over him. Unable to continue, he pulled away from Arya, breathing heavily._

"_What is it?" asked Arya, slightly breathless._

"_I—" Eragon began, unable to put his thoughts into words. What was he doing? It felt insincere to him to be so intimate with Arya when another Arya was waiting for him. Even if he loved her, he couldn't stop himself from feeling guilty. They'd been separated for decades and he had the Arya from this Alagaësia to comfort himself with but she didn't have another Eragon. "I do not deserve your love, Arya—not yours nor the Arya from this Alagaësia. I am unworthy."_

_A frown marred her perfect features before it gave way to a tender smile. "I have a selfish wish that I want to ask of you," said Arya in a soft voice, the thumb of her left hand caressing the skin underneath his eye, "Let us not think about the outside world. Let us be together like we have been before the final battle. We only have this moment, Eragon."_

"_After over eighty years, this moment is all we get?" asked Eragon, feeling his voice grow hoarse with emotion and his eyes sting with frustration. He hated Galbatorix and he hated himself for dying at the hands of the king and being separated from Arya. He wanted more time with her. He wanted more time with her and Saphira._

"_This moment is enough," said Arya sincerely._

"_I want more time," said Eragon, feeling childish for being so greedy. Alagaësia had allowed him this moment to see Arya once more and he was being spoilt for wanting more._

"_We will have more time," promised Arya. "We still exist in the Alagaësia you have been living in."_

"_You exist," said Eragon, almost bitterly. He did not want to get his hopes up and believe that he would be born only for it to be otherwise. "Even then, you are not the same. As for myself, I do not know. I could have changed the history to the point that my mother may not give birth to me."_

"_I have faith," murmured Arya. "As for the Arya in this Alagaësia, I am glad. You saved her much pain and heartache. You saved her father."_

_From the way her eyes shined, Eragon knew that she was grateful that Eragon saved King Evandar so that he would be there for his daughter. "How do you know that?" asked Eragon. He hadn't told her that he'd saved King Evandar._

"_Alagaësia showed me," answered Arya, her eyes flickering to the green streams that twisted about them. "I saw through the stream of consciousness."_

"_When I saw him fighting Galbatorix, I knew that I had to save him," said Eragon, sliding his hand from her hair to caress her cheek. "I knew that his daughter was waiting for him. I could not let you grow up without your father, not unless I could help it."_

"_Thank you." Her voice trembled as she leaned forward to kiss him once more, pouring forth all of her emotions. He felt Arya's soul within him come to life, stirring with such emotion that it was like a kiss on his own soul. When they broke apart, he pulled her to him and tucked her head underneath his chin, hugging her as tightly as she was embracing him._

"_Were you alone?" asked Eragon, knowing that he didn't need to finish his question for her to understand what he was asking._

"_Even with Eridor, Saphira, and the others there was always a part of me that yearned for you," said Arya, sounding pained. "It helped that I was busy rebuilding the Order and Alagaësia. It made me forget the pain of losing you but it could never wash it away entirely."_

"_I am sorry," apologized Eragon. "While you were carrying on and building a new future for Alagaësia, I was selfish and asked to redo the past."_

_Arya shook her head. "You are building us a new future, one where you will be there to see Galbatorix's downfall. One where my father is alive. One where the two of us will be together alongside our dragons and family. I see no shame in that…I am very proud of what you have done—of how hard you have worked towards this point."_

"_Not hard enough," murmured Eragon, he frowned. "I just wish that I did not have to leave yours or Saphira's side. I should have been with you. I should have helped you rebuild Alagaësia and the new Order of Riders."_

"_You will in this time," said Arya. She lowered her eyes to the surface of the water, deep in thought, before lifting her eyes to his once more. "As for you leaving me, you did not leave me, not entirely. We are soul bonded. Even if you had passed, a part of you still remained with me. It gave me strength whenever I was having a tiring and troubling day. It gave me the courage to do what needed to be done. It let me know that a part of you was still alive and with me."_

_How could she know what to say? How did she put him so at ease? "You always know how to comfort me," said Eragon with a faint smile. "No matter the circumstance."_

"_That is because I see you," said Arya, leaning her forehead against his._

"_I see you as well," murmured Eragon. "All of you."_

_Then unable to help himself, he spoke a name that he held close to his heart for the past eight decades. The names left his lips like a caress. He watched as Arya's emerald eyes gleamed with recognition and how she trembled slightly in his arms as her body responded to her true name. She lifted her head and they shared another kiss, deeper and slower than their earlier ones, drawn together by the longing that they'd kept in their hearts for years. It was a long moment before the two of them came apart, breathing faster than normal._

"_How have Saphira and my family been?" asked Eragon. He moved to his feet, tired of kneeling. Arya allowed him to help her to her feet but she did not pull away from his arms as she did so. She remained in his embrace, reluctant to leave his warmth just as he was reluctant to release her._

"_It was hard for them at first," said Arya gently and Eragon stiffened at the mention of his family's pain at his passing. "It was hard on everyone but your family suffered more than others. Saphira was inconsolable with grief. She did not speak to anyone, not even Eridor, for weeks. Murtagh was much the same. It was harder for him to grieve for you because he was needed to tend to the affairs of Alagaësia with Galbatorix gone."_

"_What of my mother and father?" asked Eragon, dreading to hear how his parents had reacted to his death._

"_It nearly destroyed them," said Arya, her voice holding a slight hint of pain as if she'd remembered how much anguish Eragon's parents had been in. "Had it not been for Ella, they would have fallen ill with grief. Having a child to care of helped them with the pain, but that did not mean they recovered completely. Brom struggled for a long time to come to terms with your death. When he'd passed, he had wished to see you one last time."_

_Eragon swallowed, his throat feeling constricted. He knew that his parents would pass away before he did. He understood that he lived much longer than humans would due to his bond with Saphira as well as the transformations he'd undergone._

"_I am sorry," murmured Arya gently._

"_Do not be," Eragon said, his voice slightly thick. "I knew that my parents would pass before I would. I should not be surprised. Please, give me a moment."_

"_Take all the time you need."_

_He fought a derisive snort. There was no time. Pulling Arya closer to him so that he could take comfort from her, he fought the rising sorrow in his heart. He hated knowing that he was not there by his mother's or father's side when they'd passed away. He hated knowing that he was not by Saphira's side as she grew older and wiser to lead a new Order. He hated knowing that he'd left Arya alone to shoulder the burden of building a new Alagaësia and Order of Riders._

_After a long moment, he pulled away from her so that he could stare down at her bright emerald eyes._

"_Are you feeling better?"_

_Eragon shook his head. "No, but I cannot allow myself to wallow in grief. I have spent too much time doing so during my stay in Ellesméra in this Alagaësia."_

"_You have grown wiser," said Arya, her voice held a slightly teasing lilt to it._

"_Never as wise as you," said Eragon, chuckling slightly._

_She laughed lightly in response, the fingers of her left hand tracing imaginary patterns on his right arm. Their touch was feathery and almost made him shiver. "What is the Arya in your world like?"_

"_Did you not see her in the stream of consciousness?" asked Eragon, feeling uneasy at speaking to Arya about an alternate version of herself._

"_I want to hear about her from you," was all Arya said and all Eragon needed to tell her about his time he'd spent with Arya. He started from the very beginning, explaining to Arya how the one in this Alagaësia had sought him out at Rhunön's forge and had danced with him at the winter festival. When he reached the end, he fell silent waiting to see her reaction._

"_It is heartwarming to know that I would have chosen you if you had lived while Fäolin was still alive," said Arya eventually. "I had always wondered how it would have been if you were born earlier and had lived beside me. Now I know that my love for you was not because Fäolin was no longer there. Had he been still alive, I would have chosen you regardless."_

_He felt his heart warm. He had thought the same thing as well when Arya had confessed to him. Deciding that he'd spoken enough about the Alagaësia he lived in as well as the people there, he cast an eye about, looking for Alagaësia but not finding her anywhere. "How did you manage to get here? I have tried using Vrangr before but the gate would not open for me."_

"_I do not know," said Arya shaking her head. "I had odd dreams of this place before."_

"_When?"_

"_After you…left," said Arya with difficulty. He squeezed her in comfort._

"_What did you see in those dreams?"_

"_Just this place, desolate and yet tranquil," Arya's lips pursed, her brows creasing. "At first I did not know what it was that I was seeing. I had asked Umaroth and Oromis but they did not know any more than I did. For the longest time, I thought that it was another spell that was cast much like the Eldunarí had done to hide the location of the Rock of Kuthian."_

"_What made you change your mind?"_

"_One day I was visiting the dragon eggs and a strange feeling overwhelmed me. I felt as if I was being pulled from my body," said Arya in a low voice, her eyes traveling about the sanctuary, taking in the gloom of their surroundings. "It was a painful experience but when I next opened my eyes, I was here and there was a woman with blond hair standing over me."_

"_Alagaësia," Eragon supplied to which Arya nodded._

"_She told me that it was my connection to you that kept drawing me into the sanctuary," said Arya. "She mentioned an event called the convergence."_

"_Angela said something along the same lines," said Eragon, frowning._

"_It does not surprise me. Angela has always been rather wise," said Arya._

_Eragon did not say anything to refute Arya's words. Instead, he continued to study the sanctuary. It had been decades since he'd last stepped foot in such a place. He pulled away from Arya, keeping his hand wrapped about hers as he cautiously continued forward._

"_Have you been here more than once?" asked Eragon as they walked, the water shifting underneath their feet but not allowing them to fall through._

"_A few times," said Arya as they walked. "Alagaësia was the one who told me that you were not dead—at least not in the Alagaësia you are living in presently."_

"_It must have been hard for you," said Eragon, his eyes darting to study Arya. She did not say anything to his words but he could tell from the slight dip in her lips that she agreed with his words. He turned his head to face the front, hoping that his time with Arya was not going to be cut short. "I love you."_

_Her hand squeezed his gently. "As I love you."_

_That was enough for him._

_The two of them continued to walk, aimless in direction but content that they were together. The land before them continued to stretch, never ending. They spoke about inconsequential subjects and at most times, didn't speak at all. The silence was enough._

"_Saphira had several eggs," said Arya, filling the void of the silence. She was trying her best to paint the world after Eragon died for him to see. She was trying to show him what his sacrifice had been for. "Two of her eggs have hatched for dragon riders, both elves."_

"_That is good news," said Eragon with a bittersweet smile, wishing he had been there to witness such an event. Hearing about it would have to make do. "How is Ella?"_

"_She became a Rider barely six years into her first decade," said Arya, she hesitated for a moment. "Ella does not know much about you and I believe it had made her resentful and bitter." There was conflict in Arya's eyes as she abruptly stopped speaking. Eragon raised a brow._

"_What is it?"_

_A look on unease crossed Arya's face. "Murtagh has once told me that Ella has rather conflicting feelings when it comes to you, Eragon. She loves you as every younger sister loves their older brother but she also resents you and the fact that you have left her before she had the chance to know you. She resents the fact that you are a legend in Alagaësia and that she was unable to grow up and know you. I believe much of her bitterness and resentment is as much towards Galbatorix as it is towards you. Yet, she also admires you greatly, if that helps to ease your mind."_

_Eragon did not know what to say to Arya's words. He had doted on Ella when she was born and had loved her unconditionally. To know that she loved him and yet resented him made his stomach turn. He caught the uncomfortable look on Arya's face and stopped short._

"_Is she resentful towards you?" asked Eragon with a frown._

_Arya did not say anything but her silence was enough of an answer for him. He frowned at the thought. Catching sight of his dark expression, Arya cleared her throat slightly. "It is nothing to be worried over, Ella and I have our misunderstandings. It is nothing of importance," said Arya as she tugged on his hand to continue walking. "What we must worry about is what it is that Alagaësia wants from us."_

"_Not so much the both of you but from Eragon."_

_A soft and wise voice spoke behind them, the ancient language flowing over both of their ears. Eragon and Arya turned to find a beautiful blond haired woman standing behind them, her blue eyes soft but intelligent._

"_It has been a long time, Eragon," Alagaësia bestowed a smile upon him but it was somewhat sad._

"_Did you call for us?" asked Eragon, alert and cautious of what Alagaësia was going to tell them._

"_I did," Alagaësia nodded._

"_What for?" Eragon's grip on Arya's hand tightened._

"_The convergence is upon us," said Alagaësia simply. She turned and began to walk away from them. Assuming that she wanted them to follow, Eragon and Arya trailed behind her. "It has been over eighty years since I have granted your request, Eragon. Now it is almost time for you to give a payment that is equal to your wish."_

"_What is it that you need of me?" asked Eragon._

_Alagaësia did not answer him. She continued walking for some time before coming to a stop before a river of emerald light. It was dimmer than the rest. He studied it for a moment, surprised when he found that it did not connect with the water. Instead, the wispy emerald column floated in the air, detached from the rest._

"_It is not so much what I want for you," said Alagaësia solemnly, "It is what I must take from you and from many others to fulfill your wish."_

_He was silent, waiting for her to continue._

_She studied Eragon intently, then her eyes flickered to Arya and back to Eragon, an emotion that bordered sorrow lining her features. "I must take the Alagaësia that you originally belonged to," said Alagaësia in a somber tone. "That is the price of your wish."_

_He felt as if his heart was ripped from his chest. Unable to speak, he let her words wash over him, running through his mind, echoing as if someone kept repeating it in the hollowed confines of his thoughts. She was going to take the Alagaësia he was born in? What did she mean by that? Staring at the disconnected column, he felt his throat close up. Was his original Alagaësia not going to exist anymore? Was this the price he had to pay for his selfishness? What would happen to those living in Alagaësia? What would happen to his family? To Saphira? To Arya?_

_Just the thought of something happening to his loved ones burned a hole through Eragon's heart. He swallowed thickly. "What will happen to the Alagaësia that I come from?"_

"_It will disappear," said Alagaësia simply._

"_No, there has to be another payment," argued Eragon, feeling desperation rise up within him. He was being selfish. He knew it and understood it but he didn't want to pay such a large price._

"_It must be done," said Alagaësia shaking her head. "I know it is painful for you, Eragon, but this is the burden that your have to bear. Eighty years ago, when you were struck down by Galbatorix, I asked you if you were willing to shoulder the burden of your wish and you had accepted. You cannot back away now, Eragon."_

_He felt his anger flare at the indirect insult. His fear, however, won over his anger. He turned to Arya, feeling helpless but her face only showed determination. Had she already accepted her fate? Was she not going to fight it?_

"_I did not know that the price would be so high. I do not want everyone from Alagaësia to pay for my wish," said Eragon. "There must be another price that you want—one that I can give you!"_

_Alagaësia shook her head. "You alone cannot pay for the wish that you wanted. For you to live another life, I created an alternate Alagaësia where you were not dead and allowed you a chance to redo history. It is only natural and fair that I take the original Alagaësia that you were from for payment. Two cannot exist. It will cause an imbalance. That is why the convergence must happen."_

"_Eragon, it is only fair," said Arya gently._

_He stared at her, feeling betrayed that she was not fighting Alagaësia. "What of you and Eridor? What of the future that we fought so hard to build? Is that all worth nothing to you? Why are you willing to give it up without so much a fight?"_

_Her emerald eyes flashed and he knew that his words had offended her. "It is not easy for me to accept what will happen but I cannot fight it. My only comfort is that another Alagaësia exists, one where we stand a better chance at fighting Galbatorix—one where the war can be won without such a great cost."_

_Shame welled up in him at her words. He knew that Arya was being rational and he was being childish once more. His eyes stung at the thought of sacrificing his original Alagaësia and the people he knew for his wish that he'd asked for eight decades ago. Had he known that this was the price to pay, would he have still asked for it?_

"_I do not want to lose you," murmured Eragon in a rare showing of emotion._

"_I know," whispered Arya, her eyes bright. "It will be hard but I will still exist, not as I am now, but I will still be part of the other Alagaësia."_

_Torn between cursing, crying, and raging, Eragon settled for quietly clenching his teeth to keep his anger and frustration in bay. This was the price to pay. Asking for a second life had already been selfish enough for him but to refuse to own up to his words was shameful. Breathing heavily through his nose, he blinked a few times, a feeling of defeat washing over him. There was nothing he could do. He couldn't fight the force that was Alagaësia. He was not strong enough and he couldn't show his lack of gratitude. She deserved his gratitude, not his spite and anger._

"_When will the convergence happen?" asked Eragon quietly._

"_When you are born and when you die," said Alagaësia simply. Arya's hand tightened in his. "When I made this alternate universe, I was not able to use your soul from the other Alagaësia. Your soul had passed into my realm when you died. I could not allow it to leave. That is why I took the soul of the Eragon that was from the alternate Alagaësia and mirrored your soul onto his. With his soul, I made you a body and allowed you to keep your weapons and armor from the other Alagaësia so that you may fight and survive. You will have to return the soul back to the other Eragon. That is the convergence."_

_It was as if a dragon's tail had struck him in the gut. His soul wasn't his? It was mirrored onto the Eragon belonging to this world? His eyes widened in disbelief. That was the price for him to live in this world? He'd stolen not only this Eragon's Arya but he'd stolen his soul as well. His greed had turned him into a thief._

"_It is not your fault, Eragon," Arya said in a resolute and reassuring voice as he brought a hand up to rub his face tiredly. "You did not know that this was to happen."_

"_It does not excuse the fact that it will happen," said Eragon angrily. "All this time, I had been living on a borrowed soul. I have taken everything from the other Eragon. My greed has made me a selfish."_

"_I had told you that I cannot bring back the dead," said Alagaësia with kind eyes. "The only way for you to live in this world was to allow you to live off of a borrowed soul. Your body was born from my magic and with a soul, it allowed you to live, albeit on borrowed time. Now that you mother has conceived you, the soul must be returned to its rightful owner."_

"_What will happen to me?" asked Eragon, already having an inkling of what the answer was._

"_You will die as you would have originally and disappeared with your Alagaësia."_

_Eragon was not sure if it was Arya who was crushing his hand or if he was crushing hers, but all he knew was that they were holding hands in a death grip. It made sense. He was borrowing a soul, borrowing time. It was only right that he returned it when the time came. Yet, there were things he still had to do. He still had to rescue the dragon eggs and take his mother and Murtagh away from Morzan and unite them with Brom. He had to leave the Varden with his last orders and set them on a course to a better future._

"_Take half of my soul," said Eragon suddenly. He sounded wild. He felt wild. "I can survive with half my soul. I have done it before."_

"_Eragon—" Arya began, wide eyed._

"_No! I cannot die now. There is still much left to be done," said Eragon, abruptly cutting her off. He thought of Faust and how the dark magician had split his soul. He had still been alive then. He was bordering the edge of madness then but he survived. If he could do it in the past, he could do it again. Tearing his eyes away from Arya, he focused them on Alagaësia. "Please, take half of my soul. I know it is selfish of me but I need more time."_

"_The Eragon that will be born to Selena and Brom of this Alagaësia will be born with only half a soul," said Alagaësia quietly. "How will he survive?"_

_Memories from long ago surface in Eragon's mind. He knew that surviving on only half a soul was impossible. But there was a solution. It was a solution full of pain and suffering but he could think of nothing else._

"_Bind it with a spirit—bind it with the Asura of this world," said Eragon quietly. "If Faust can do it, I know you have the power to do so as well. Have Asura sealed within him and allow him to use the energy from his spirit to survive. When the time comes, I will return the other half of his soul to him, I swear it."_

"_You will allow your other self to go through the pain you once went through?" Alagaësia spoke in a quiet voice, as if testing his will and determination._

"_That is the only solution I can think of that will allow me to live long enough to accomplish what I had set out to do, even if I am born in this world," said Eragon, not backing down. All the while, Arya remained quiet by his side. It looked as if she was having a hard time accepting his request but to his silent gratitude, she did not say anything._

"_Then what of you? If I take half of your soul, how will you survive? Will you ask me to entrap another one of my spirits in your body?" Alagaësia waved her hand over the water they stood on. "The spirits that wander Alagaësia, wander in search of my sanctuary. They are not meant to be entrapped in bodies and have their free will taken from them."_

_There was a calm way in which she said it that made Eragon cautious. Was this another test? He stared at Alagaësia, trying to think of a response to her words. "The moment I die, the spirit will be released. I would not ask it of you if it were not important. It is a selfish request of me but I need your strength. If there was any other way, I would gladly accept."_

_Alagaësia did not immediately respond to him. Her blue eyes never left his and he felt as if she was staring right through his very soul. "Your actions can turn against you," said Alagaësia quietly. "If the people you care for find that you have been deceiving them, they may very well end up turning against you. Are you ready to shoulder such a burden? What if the other Eragon finds that you have been using him? What if he believes that you have taken away his will and replaced it with your own? Can you carry such a sin?"_

_He was already in too deep. Staining his hands now would mean nothing to him. "I will shoulder it so long as it is mine."_

"_Then I will do as you ask," said Alagaësia lifting her hand._

"_Wait." It was Arya who spoke, her voice almost startling Eragon. He'd forgotten that she was there and listening, so distracted as he was with what Alagaësia was telling him and his own overwhelming emotions. "Before you do, I have a request."_

"_What is it, leader of the Dragon Riders?"_

"_My memories." Arya turned to Eragon, speaking to him more than Alagaësia. "I want you to take them with you."_

"_Arya…" Eragon began softly._

_She shook her head. "If I understand myself even the slightest, I know that I will want answers and I will want to see with my own eyes that what you are saying is the truth when the time comes for the other Arya to know of your true past. I want to be able to give this to her so that she does not feel cheated or manipulated. Insecurity has always been my enemy when I was younger, Eragon. Insecurity led me to self-doubt and it haunted me. I do not want my other self to be in doubt of who she is or will become. I do not want her to wonder about who she would have been had she not met you that snowy winter's day in Ellesméra. As much as I am doing this to preserve my memories of who I am and my love for you, I am doing this for her. Please, understand this."_

"_But where will I keep your memories?" asked Eragon. "How can I give this gift to the other you if I will eventually pass away once the convergence is complete?"_

"_You will find a way," said Arya, reaching up with her free hand to caress his face. Her eyes shined but she refused to shed a single tear._

_Eragon's eyes darted to the side where Alagaësia had turned her back to them, giving them a moment of privacy. Grateful that she was not listening in on them, Eragon returned his attention to Arya, leaning his forward so that he could rest his forehead against hers._

"_I am frightened of what is to come," murmured Eragon, the honest language flowing unhindered from his lips._

"_It will be daunting but you will overcome it," Arya replied. She took in a deep breath, struggling for words. "Everything will be alright, Eragon." It was her words that made his eyes water and he mentally cursed himself when a single tear managed to escape. Arya was quick to wipe it away, knowing that he didn't like to show his vulnerability._

"_I am sorry," Eragon whispered again, wanting Arya to know that he truly meant it. If he had known that this was going to be the result of his actions, he would not have asked Alagaësia for another life. He would have gladly died for the future that Arya helped to build._

"_I am glad," said Arya gently, truthfully, and sincerely. "That you have made an Alagaësia where the Varden stands a better chance against Galbatorix…You have made an Alagaësia where you are not dead and I am living."_

_He heard the sound of Alagaësia shifting her feet and knew that their time had come to an end. Swallowing past the large lump in his throat, he rapidly blinked his eyes. "I love you," said Eragon quietly, whispering her true name once more for her to hear. He wasn't sure if it was the timing, the words, or how emotional his voice sounded but a few tears left Arya's eyes as she nodded. He wiped them away with the pad of his thumb, kissing her ardently as she whispered the same three words back to him followed by his true name._

_Trying his best to convey his feelings to her through the kiss, Eragon pulled away turning his head to gaze forward resolutely. If he continued to see Arya and only Arya, he would never allow himself to go through the process of destroying the Alagaësia that he'd left behind in death._

"_Are you ready?" asked Alagaësia, raising her right hand, the palm glowing with a golden aura._

"_I am," said Eragon, his voice rough but steady._

_Alagaësia nodded, motioning him forward and away from Arya. His feet were heavy as he complied with her gestures. When he stood a yard away from the blond hair woman who was the embodiment of their world, his heartbeat began to speed up and a strange feeling of acceptance washed over him. Rather than look back one last time at Arya, he kept his head held high. He would accept this as a form of punishment for his greed. He would not fight it._

"_The pain will be crippling, but do not give in," said Alagaësia gently as she lifted her right hand higher. There was a flash of light and an excruciating heat tore through his body as he felt his very essence be ripped apart. A strangled cry left his lips when the pieces of Arya's soul that he carried with him were torn from his grasp, to be replaced by the pieces of his own soul that he'd given to her years ago. There was a crack in the fragile shell of the soul that belonged to Eragon Shadeslayer with Arya's soul now taken from him. Yet it did not stop there. Before he could recover, another agonizing wave of pain flushed over him as the pieces of Asura were torn away to leave behind his soul, whole but incomplete. Another crack appeared in the shell of his soul._

_Then as if someone had tugged him in half, he felt a shock of pain right to his very heart as his soul was split in twine. It was as if someone had sliced him from head to toe, severing his body into halves and leaving him there. A cry left his lips. The pain he'd gone through when he was a child suddenly felt like it was from another lifetime. The anguish and agony that he felt was vast and incomparable. Almost losing himself in the pain, he felt a strange presence on the edge of his mind. It came to him, wrapping about his remaining soul, trying its best to keep him from falling apart._

_Eragon tried with all of his might to remain in control of his mind but the pain clouded his senses and blanketed his thoughts until he knew no more, throwing him into a deep and dark sleep that he could only hope to awaken from._

**So, how do you think the chapter was? Was it too confusing? I hope it made sense. It did in my head. I've been going over and updating the chapters of RL so that was partially why I was so busy and wasn't able to write on TMF. I'll try my best to continue writing but there may be times that I take longer to update than most...I'm drawing a blank here. I suppose I'll close this A/N here. See you all soon!**

**UPDATE: I will only say this in this chapter since it seems to be a disappointment to several readers but just because of what is stated in this chapter, it does not mean that RL Arya and Eragon are gone for good in this story. As this story is incomplete, there is still a lot left to read. I don't want to give away all the plot in one chapter. In any case, as arguments for the price paid by Eragon, it is only fair that he gives up something. There are alternate versions of the world but because Eragon wished to be alive in another, it was made for his wish so he has to pay something (his old world). I would be honest here, I understand some of your disappointment but it bothers me that a few of you wish that I would write according to how you would like to see TMF. I had already had this story hashed out in my mind long before the first chapter. The only thing I can say is that the RL Arya and Eragon you love will not disappear and that they will remain a part of this story. I worked to hard to write them to let them "fade away into oblivion."**


	49. Chapter 48

**Chapter 48**

**It's been a while since we've last seen each other, hasn't it? I have both good news and bad news. The good news is that I've finally gotten around to finishing this chapter. It wasn't that I was trying to make a statement because of some of the reviews from the last chapter, it's something else. True, I was less motivated to write because of some of the reviews but I'm not the type to really give up my thoughts to write the way some readers want. In actuality, I've been very busy and moving a lot. And that brings me to my bad news(for you but good for me): I've finally started my backpacking trip! I've been busy packing and preparing and just recently I've flown out to England! I've been here for a few days and it's great! The buildings here are **just...They**'re just so beautiful! And how is this bad? Well, I'm not typing much since I want to get out and explore! I can't let this moment go to waste so I've been working on this chapter whenever I'm in my hotel. So that's why it's taken me so long to update. Anyways, to those who've kept with this story after the last chapter thank you. And to those who are disappointed by the last chapter, I'm not going to change what I've written since I've already thought this out, so I'm sorry to see you leave but if you decide to keep trucking on, I hope you'll like the end result. R&R.**

The past few days had left him feeling out of sorts. The first day after he'd returned to himself from Alagaësia's sanctuary, he had found himself feeling ill. It had left him feeling sluggish and tired, causing him to rest rather than continue traveling north to Urû'baen. His inability to travel, irritated him but it was the price he had to pay. While his body was still getting reacquainted with the split souls once more, he took his time mapping out the next of his plans trying his best not to think about the other Alagaësia. It only served to heighten his guilt and shame.

It was that first night when Eragon discovered how his Arya meant to preserve her memories. The glass orb in which the red rose the Arya of this Alagaësia held more than just the flower now. When he had pulled it out to gaze at, the moment his fingers touched the glass, he felt Arya's presence embedded deep within it. Investigating it further showed him that she had somehow stored her memories in the orb. A part of him had wanted to see her memories and what had happened after he died but he respected her too much to dare try. He wouldn't look through her memories unless she gave him permission to. As circumstance had, he might never be able to see her memories or his Arya ever again—at least not until the convergence was done.

He had wanted to mourn about what he'd lost but fought against the temptation to do so. Instead, he tried to use grief as motivation to continue. He'd already gone to great lengths to get where he was. Falling short now would be inexcusable. With that thought in mind, he continued to push forward. The eggs were his next priority. Having an upper hand over the Varden and Hefring in the other Alagaësia, he would have to take all three of them. With that thought in mind, he'd set out for Urû'baen.

It would have taken him faster to travel if he'd sprinted daily but the travelers and patrols on the road made him wary of doing so. It would not bode well if he attracted too much attention to himself due to his supernatural speed. Therefore, he had to take his travels at human pace. As impatient as he was to be done with his tasks and return to the Varden, the extra time allowed him to contemplate about anything and everything.

Jeod was no doubt making his way to the Varden to help them with the clues he found that would lead them to the eggs. If Eragon timed it correctly, he could have Hefring try to steal the eggs after he'd made off with them and confuse Galbatorix momentarily. It would be a temporary cover but it would be enough for him to help the Varden secure the upper hand and prevent Galbatorix from directly targeting the Varden.

However, his plans hinged on the fact that Brom would be able to kill Morzan before the fearsome Forsworn came for Eragon to retrieve the eggs when he found out that Eragon had been the one to steal the eggs. He didn't doubt his abilities in fighting Morzan but he wanted Brom to be the one to kill Morzan. It was the only way for Brom to overcome his past with Morzan and the bitter wounds it left.

Another rather dizzying task was to find his mother. He'd heard stories that she'd been sent on a secretive mission from Morzan and that it had taken quite a toll on her. Her missions combined with her will to protect Murtagh had been the driving force that kept her from succumbing to whatever injuries she'd endured. When she'd returned to Morzan's estate, she'd been just in time to give birth to Eragon. Therefore, he could only assume that she'd be at Carvahall, entrusting Murtagh to her brother. If she wasn't, she would be at the next likely place: Morzan's estates.

Eragon could only hope that when the time came for him to find Selena, that it wouldn't be a difficult task. He could very well end up searching throughout the Empire for her if he did somehow mistaken the timing of events. Being the Black Hand, it would be even more difficult to find Selena when she didn't want to be found.

Pulling his hood down to cover his face, Eragon glanced upwards. The sun was beginning to set itself as red dusting appeared in the blue sky. Evening was fast approaching and he could see Urû'baen against the horizon. If he judged the distance correctly, he would be able to make it to the city in another two to three hours. That was if he walked the distance.

Perhaps a horse would have been better in hindsight. The errant thought crossed his mind as he ducked his head when two large stallions charged by, pulling a cart piled with merchandise. Then again, he would have stood out like a sore thumb amongst all the travelers on foot.

"Good evening there, traveler!" a voice boomed out a few paces away. Eragon glanced up to find that the cart had stopped. The older man who sat at the front with the reins in his hands smiled warmly at Eragon in greeting. For a merchant, he was tall and made of a bulky build. He was fit to be a soldier. He had a well-kept beard and his dark hair was beginning to show streaks of gray.

Forced to respond in a civil manner, Eragon approached the cart, taking care not to startle the horses. They could tell that he was different from humans, no doubt. Animals always had an instinctual sense of the world about them. "Good evening," said Eragon, politely.

The man peered at him. "Night is falling soon," the merchant said, smiling in welcome at Eragon. He gestured to the seat beside him. "It isn't safe to walk about at night, especially with tough times like these. Since the two of us are both headed to Urû'baen, you can ride with me."

Mentally cursing this man for his kindness, Eragon began to search for a way to decline his offer. "I do not have any Crowns to pay you," said Eragon, settling for the easiest solution he could find. As he'd expected, the man waved away his concerns.

"That's hardly a concern," the man gestured towards the seat once more. Unable to deny him, Eragon inwardly sighed. Offering the man his thanks, he climbed onto the seat, settling himself beside the man. The merchant offered Eragon another smile and then with a tug of the reins, sent the cart back into motion as the horses spurred forward. Eragon kept a hand clutching his cloak. He'd taken off the cloak that Angela had given him in favor for another one so that he could wrap up the case containing the Dauthdaert. In hindsight, he should have kept it on to avoid being stopped like so. The only benefit was that the merchant didn't seem to notice the wrapped case that Eragon carried.

"Name's Abraham," he said, giving Eragon another sideways look.

"Gabranth," said Eragon, opting not to give his real name.

"Pleasure to meet you, Gabranth," said Abraham. "Are you traveling to Urû'baen for work? Many people from all over the Empire are showing up at the doorstep of the capital. They figure the markets will be fairer here than any other city. Rotten luck they'll find when they can't scrounge for a job well enough. Life's not easy here in Urû'baen."

"You can say that I am," said Eragon. He hurriedly tried to think of a backstory to feed to Abraham. "I wish to earn money so that I could ask for a maiden's hand in marriage." He thought about Arya, smiling slightly. She was a maiden, however he was positive that no matter how much she felt for him that she would not marry him. It was not standard elven traditions, after all.

Abraham laughed, sending an admiring glance in Eragon's direction. "Very proper of you, son," he said, approval lacing his voice. "Not many young men have the courage in them to leave home for work. I would say her parents will be quite pleased to have a suitor such as yourself asking for their daughter's hand in marriage."

Eragon thought of Evandar and Islanzadí. The two did not know that Eragon was romantically involved with Arya. He could only assumed how the both of them would react once they found out that they were. He would be honest in saying so but he was rather curious to see how Evandar would take the news. Eragon and King Evandar had always been on good terms—almost close friends. He could only hope that Evandar would approve of Eragon's relationship with Arya.

"Thank you," said Eragon, inclining his head in a polite gesture.

"I have a young daughter myself," said Abraham. "A little thing she is, only six years of age."

Unsure how to respond to such words, Eragon nodded. His eyes flickered ahead where the capital of the Empire loomed overhead. Trying to think of several options to leave Abraham, Eragon was nearly startled when a group of soldiers rode by on their strong chargers. They were dressed in light armor, a sword at their hip, and red cloaks tied at the base of their throat, the Empire's crest embroidered in the fabric.

They barely glanced at Eragon and Abraham as they passed, intent as they were to reach Urû'baen before night fell. Abraham grunted from beside Eragon, his mouth twisting into a hard line, looking vaguely displeased.

"Many soldiers have been coming and going as they please in Urû'baen as of late," said Abraham, gruffly. His hands tightened on the reins in his hands.

"I take it you do not like the presence of soldiers," said Eragon, chalking up yet another observation of Abraham from the few minutes they'd been in contact. Abraham from what Eragon could tell was an honest working man. He was also kind and willing to help strangers which Eragon should warn him against seeing as the Empire wasn't undergoing such prosperous times. One day, some stranger may take advantage of his goodwill.

"It is good to have them patrol the city and roads to keep the wrongdoers at bay," said Abraham, his voice low as if afraid that someone might overhear them. "I do not despise all soldiers, only the ones that take their positions for granted and abuse their authority. More grief has come from their greed then from elsewhere."

"Have you been a victim to them before?" asked Eragon, curiously. When he was Gabranth in his other life, he had made certain to stamp out most of the lucrative dealings that many of the men in the army thrived on. He did not tolerate oppression of any kind.

"A few times," said Abraham honestly. "I am a merchant. The work has been passed through my family for generations. Being well off than most, I expected to be harassed from time to time."

"Extortion?" Eragon's lips thinned.

Abraham nodded, his face set in grim lines. "The very like. They have stopped coming by since my daughter, Loris, was born. I can only hope they keep well away. I do not mind their harassment but I do not want my daughter to be subjected to it."

"It would be a terrible experience for her if she were," agreed Eragon. His mind wandered as he thought of Abraham and his family. Having a daughter would only work against him. If the soldiers did come back to extort Crowns or valuables from Abraham's family, they could use his daughter as leverage against him and force him to do what they wanted. That was how the corrupted worked. Eragon had seen it more than enough times. His lips thinned as he thought of Desdemona and how she had been pawned off to one of the nobles in the Empire to benefit her coldhearted father, a nobleman in his own right.

"Aye," murmured Abraham. For the rest of the journey to Urû'baen, the two of them spoke mostly about Abraham and his business. Abraham's family specialized in wine. His family supplied most of the wine to the citadel for Galbatorix as well as the city of Urû'baen. It was no wonder that his family was well off as compared to others.

When they reached the gates, Abraham turned to stare at Eragon with a critical eye. "You best lower your hood, Gabranth. The guards do not take well to masked travelers entering Urû'baen."

Silently cursing, Eragon did as he was told, lowering the hood of his cloak. Having changed his appearance to that of a human's, he was glad that he did not stand out in the supernatural aspect. His handsome features would surely gather more attention than the usual human would receive but so long as no one knew his true identity, he was safe.

"Halt!" the guard at the front of the gates called out to them. He was young and bulky in size. He motioned to his companion. "Search the cart!"

"Yes, sir!"

The soldier instantly went up to the cart and began to prod about with his sword.

"Careful, some of the merchandise is fragile," grunted Abraham in clear distaste. The head guard turned his eyes to Abraham and then to Eragon.

"By orders of the king, carts are to be searched and travelers are to be questioned," said the guard without wavering. He was strangely confident for a mere gate guard. "Who are you and what is your purpose in Urû'baen?"

"Abraham, I live and work as a merchant here in the city," Abraham answered. "I was on leave for dealings in Teirm."

The guard nodded and then he turned his eyes onto Eragon. "What of you?"

"I came for work," said Eragon, simply. He wondered how the guard could tell if one was lying or not. From what Eragon could tell, the guard did not know magic and did not know how to enter his mind to see if he was telling the truth or not. Instead, the young man before him studied him for a long time.

"What is your name?" asked the guard as the other one continued to prod about in the back of the cart.

"Gabranth."

"Right then, Gabranth," said the soldier, "How is it that you are traveling with Abraham?"

"The young lad was walking on the road when I came upon him," Abraham answered for Eragon, saving him the effort from doing so. "Night was upon us, it would have taken him a few hours to reach Urû'baen had I not offered to take him with me on my return."

The guard said nothing in return, continuing to watch Eragon with a keen eye. They waited there in awkward silence until the other guard returned, reporting that nothing suspicious came about from his search. Eragon tried not to draw any attention to the rectangular case that was strapped to his back. So far, none of them noticed the object, their eyes sliding over it.

"Very well, you may enter," the two guards moved away to allow the cart room to move through the open gates. As they crossed the threshold, a slight panic gripped at Eragon as he caught sight of the citadel that towered in the center of the city. Being in Urû'baen made him feel out of sorts. The large walls that girdled the city made him feel trapped and the knowledge of Galbatorix being so close was enough to make sweat bead on his forehead. One wrong move and he could risk exposing himself. One wrong move and he could be captured.

Deciding now was the best time to depart from Abraham, Eragon descended from the cart when they'd stopped on the main street of the city, offering Abraham what he hoped was a grateful look. "Thank you for bringing me to Urû'baen," said Eragon. He held out his hand for the man to shake.

Abraham looked rather embarrassed by Eragon's gratitude. He cleared his throat and shook Eragon's hand. "You are welcome, Gabranth," he gave Eragon's hand a strong shake before withdrawing his hand. "You take care of yourself, you hear? You have a special woman waiting for you at home."

Momentarily confused with his words, Eragon was quick to remember his earlier crafted story. For some reason, he felt rather embarrassed. With a promise that he would take care of himself, Eragon waved at Abraham's retreating cart. When he turned off of the main street, Eragon lowered his hand taking in his surroundings. Though he'd been in enemy territory for the past few days, he was in the lion's den now.

Galbatorix, Shruikan, and possibly Faust were not far off.

Keeping to the side of the street and away from the other city inhabitants, Eragon focused his gaze on the tall walls that encircled Urû'baen. He knew from experience that entering and leaving Urû'baen was difficult. He could try to use magic and scale the walls to leave but the chance of being noticed or tripping an alarm made him wary.

"Make way!" a loud and obnoxious voice called.

Eragon started, lifting his head to take in the new arrival. His throat constricted at the sight of a marooned haired man at the forefront of a group of soldiers. His ember eyes were just as dark as his hair, the crimson a distinct contrast against his very pale skin. Eragon took an involuntary step backwards, hoping that Durza would not catch sight of him.

As fate would have it, the Shade turned his head and his maroon eyes landed on Eragon. Keeping his gaze from Durza's, Eragon lowered his eyes. If he dared to stare at Durza, it would be the same as challenging the Shade. He had to act like regular humans. He had to act frightened and inferior.

_Just move on, _thought Eragon, _go report to Galbatorix._

He heard the sound of footsteps make their way towards him. "Lift your head," a loft voice said.

Cursing his misfortune, Eragon did as he was ordered. Durza stood before him, his men standing behind him, poised and ready for any orders the Shade might give. As Eragon stared at Durza, he tried to keep his hatred for the Shade hidden. Then to his surprise, Durza gave a long sniff, his eyes narrowing at Eragon.

"Who are you?" Durza demanded.

"My name is Gabranth," said Eragon, realizing belatedly that Durza could sense that he was not fully human. After having his soul split and merged with that of another spirit, Eragon could only assume that Durza was sensing the presence of another spirit in his midst.

"Gabranth, you say?" Durza raised a brow at him, his lips twisting in a sadistic way. "Pray tell, Gabranth, what business have you here in Urû'baen?"

"I hardly see how that is any concern of yours, Durza," a new voice interrupted their conversation. It was feminine and soft but held an edge to it. Eragon's eyes darted to the newcomer, his heart in his throat when he caught sight of soft chestnut hair and bright brown eyes, which were narrowed in Durza's direction. However, unlike when Eragon first met Selena, she was not dressed in her brown leather nor armed. Instead, she wore a gown fit for a lady of noble birth. Jewels adorned her figure, giving her a cutting image against the dull background of Urû'baen.

Her eyes momentarily strayed to Eragon, recognition filling the brown irises. She knew that he was Eragon. Was she here to help him?

"Ah, the Lady of Morzan's Estates," said Durza in a lackluster voice. He gestured towards Eragon. "You know this man?"

"He is called on to wait for me," said Selena, she made a sharp motion of her hand. Understanding her actions, Eragon made to stand behind her, acting like the proper servant. "Is that a sufficient enough explanation for you, Durza?"

Durza pierced Selena with a long look, then as if bored he motioned with his hands for his soldiers to follow him towards the citadel. When they were well out of range, Selena turned to him, her brown eyes scrutinizing him.

"Eragon?" she whispered quietly.

He nodded. Then just as quietly, "I am assuming the name Gabranth at the moment," he chanced a glance ahead of them where Durza had disappeared between the buildings, "I need to leave Urû'baen."

Selena nodded. "Follow me and do not do anything that would draw too much attention," she murmured. Then lifting her chin, she said in a strong voice, "Let us go then, Gabranth."

Releasing a breath of relief, Eragon followed behind Selena. She had saved him from Durza's suspicions and unwittingly, was helping him carry out his plans. As the two of them walked through the streets of Urû'baen, Eragon more than once caught several admiring glances at Selena. Already endowed with beauty, the wealth of her station was obvious to any onlooker. It made her more appealing.

When they approached the gates, Eragon was glad that the guards that had allowed him inside the city were gone and replaced with older guards. They took one look at Selena and nodded to her, allowing her to leave the city without so much a question.

The two of them traveled until they reached a hill side. Moving so that they were blocked from sight, Selena turned to him. "What are you thinking?" she immediately demanded from him. "Had I not been there, Durza would have found out who you really are and you would have been brought to the feet of Galbatorix's throne."

"Then I was fortunate to have crossed paths with you," said Eragon with a slight smile. He observed his mother. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes were bright. Having taken care of Selena when she was pregnant with Ella, Eragon could easily recognize the signs of a woman carrying a child. "You look much different than when we last met."

"Is that so?" she raised a brow at him but her words held no malice or sarcasm. She appeared to be genuinely interested in what he had to say.

"You look happier," said Eragon, watching as a smile played on Selena's lips.

"I am happier," said Selena eventually with a quiet sigh, her hand moving to her stomach subconsciously. Eragon waited, allowing her a moment to collect her thoughts. "You were right about what you said back then."

"About what?" asked Eragon, brows furrowed as he tried to recall their conversation the first time they'd met.

"That I did not understand what love was," Selena said, eyes crinkling at the corner, looking distinctly upset. "That I was too blinded by my loyalty to Morzan to see him for who he was...a monster, who lacks empathy and sympathy."

Eragon did not say anything but he could tell that his mother was rapidly becoming upset at the thought of Morzan. He could only guess that she was speaking of Morzan's treatment of Murtagh and how he had gravely injured their only child in his drunken rage.

"You made a mistake," said Eragon quietly. "There is no need to dwell on it."

"It is easy for you to say such when you know nothing," Selena snapped, then as if realizing that she'd lost a grip on her emotions, she shook her head, her hand coming up to touch her temple. "I am sorry, Eragon. I did not mean to be so short with you."

"I know what you are going through, Selena," said Eragon. His words effectively stopped Selena in her pacing, causing her to turn to stare at him. "I know that you have fallen in love with Brom and have been conveying messages to the Varden through him as a spy for us. I know that you feel trapped at Morzan's estate because of his hold on Murtagh, your son."

"How?" whispered Selena, her eyes gleaming with grief. "How do you know this? No one except for Brom and myself know such."

"It does not matter how I know, but I can help you," said Eragon, he made his way to her and took her gently by the arms. "I can help you escape Morzan's estate with Murtagh and find a place for you to live happily with Brom. Even if it is for a short moment, you can be happy with the man that you love as well as your children."

"How?" Her hands gripped his arms, her expression pleading with him to tell her how to escape her trapped life.

Eragon gave her a wry smile. "I cannot tell you but you have to trust me, Selena."

Selena was quiet for a long time. She was thinking on his words, he could tell. Her lips were pursed and her eyes were unfocused as her thoughts claimed her attention. After a long moment, she nodded tentatively. "I will trust you," then she offered him a faint smile. "How ironic to find us here now. Years earlier I was out for your blood for Morzan but now, I am willingly trusting my life to you."

"I believe a small part of you knew that you could always trust me," said Eragon. He smiled. "I have said it before, have I not? We are not enemies, Selena. The only enemy of mine is Galbatorix and all those willingly associated with him."

"Then we are of the same," agreed Selena.

A crow gave a call in the distance causing Eragon to glance about them. Night was falling and the sky was steadily getting darker. "I need you to return to Morzan's estate and wait for me," said Eragon, trying to convey the seriousness of his instructions to Selena. "Will Brom be there?"

Selena shook her head. "He is making his way back to the Varden."

"Very well," said Eragon undeterred. If his father was not there to help, he would take matters upon his own hands to free his mother and Murtagh. "Remember what I am telling you, Selena. Return to Morzan's estate but do not leave nor do anything that would garner Morzan's suspicions. After I am done with my task I will come find you."

"I will do as you say," said Selena in the ancient language.

"Can you make it back to the estate on your own?" he felt rather hesitant at the thought of his mother, unarmed and with child, traveling in the dead of night.

"You are worrying about the Black Hand," said Selena, with a slight smirk that clashed with her regal appearance. "I can handle myself well enough in the face of bandits and wild animals."

Nodding, Eragon surprised her by pulling Selena into a warm embrace. "Be careful, Selena."

When they pulled away, her expression was soft. "You as well, Eragon." With one last look at him, she turned and made her way to the main road. He watched her form become a silhouette against the night sky before being blanketed by the darkness. His heart pounded at the thought of her traveling on her own but he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He couldn't afford to be distracted now.

Taking a cursory glance about him, Eragon removed the pack from his back and hurriedly changed into his dark armor, strapping Brisingr and Vrangr to his body. Carrying his things in one hand, he began to murmur underneath his breath as he'd done when they were searching for the underground path into Dras-Leona.

After walking for nearly an hour, he found the grate to the unground tunnel. It was well hidden by overgrown moss. Lowering his things to the ground, Eragon tugged the moss out of the way until he cleared the grate from the plants. Gripping the sides of the rather small grate, he tugged glad that it gave a small groan of protest before coming free. He set the grate aside on the ground, making sure to cover it with the moss.

Using magic to create a werelight, he peered inside the tunnel. It was dark and narrow like the one at Dras-Leona. Frowning, Eragon took a deep breath and turned back to his things. Unwrapping the case with the Dauthdaert, he pulled the lance out, keeping a hold of it in his hands. It would allow him to pass through any of Galbatorix's wards without alarming him.

Slowly entering the tunnel, he was grateful that he did not have to hunch over as much as he continued into the narrowed and confined space. As he walked, he was careful not to make too much noise. The tunnel led directly into Galbatorix's citadel, therefore it had to run underneath the city. If he made too much noise, it could draw attention to the existence of the tunnel.

Pushing further into the tunnel, he softly placed his feet with every step. The tunnel continued to stretch onwards and he was infinitely glad when it did not branch out in multiple directions like the tunnel at Dras-Leona did. Unsure of how long he walked, Eragon was grateful when he felt a slight incline in the tunnel ground.

He must be getting close. Continuing forward, Eragon paused when he caught sight of ancient characters etched in the stone. It looked similar to the elvish characters of the ancient language. Taking note of the strange etchings, he pushed onward. He couldn't afford being distracted now. After ten minutes or perhaps hours of walking through the uniform stretch of the tunnel, Eragon came upon a dead end.

He stared at the tunnel wall, momentarily confused. Placing his hands on the stone, he pushed. The stone wall did not budge in the slightest. Unsure of what else to do, he craned his head about. Perhaps there was a latch for him to use. That was when he caught sight of the trap door above his head, old and worn with age. Eragon reached for it, stopping when a strange sensation flooded him.

It felt as if he was being watched. He checked over his shoulder. No one was there. Yet he still couldn't shake the feeling that someone was keenly observing him. He reached for the trap door once more, his hand stilling when he felt a presence tap at his mind as if testing the surface of his thoughts. Tentatively and cautiously, Eragon opened his mind to the presence.

_Umaroth? Is that you?_

The presence exuded shock and then without warning, it was wrapping itself about his mind, trapping him. Seconds later, a deep and wise voice echoed in the recess of his mind, full of warning and caution.

_Who are you and how did you recognize that I am Umaroth?_

Eragon stilled himself. He should have anticipated Umaroth being present when he tried to steal the eggs from Galbatorix. When Eragon did not initially answer the dragon upon his questioning, the barrier that surrounded his mind tightened causing him to wince.

_Speak, human._

_We have met before, _said Eragon bringing up a hand to rub his temples. He could feel Umaroth's disbelief at his words. _In another Alagaësia, in another time, the two of us met at the Rock of Kuthian on Vroengard, where you and the rest of the Eldunarí are hidden._

Without warning, Umaroth's presence as well as the other Eldunarí pressed against his, constricting his thoughts. Their minds gripped at his and like they had done the first time, they probed at him before shattering him into thousands of pieces, examining each fragment. Powerless to stop them, Eragon was frozen to the spot as the dragons tore at his subconscious, viewing his memories from both Alagaësia's. He could feel their growing disbelief the more they delved into his thoughts and when they were done, he felt just as dazed as they did.

With care, they resembled his thoughts, piecing back together the shattered fragments. When the last piece fell in place, Eragon released a quiet grunt, leaning against the tunnel wall for support. No matter how many times he was subjected to such scrutiny, he could never be fully used to it.

_Do you believe me now?_

_You have much explaining to do, rider, _said Umaroth in a dangerous voice. Eragon shook his head, unsure of how to respond. He glanced up at the trap door, if he didn't do anything he could miss his chance to steal the eggs. _Your actions affect the entire whole of Alagaësia._

_I know you need an explanation, but I do not want to be distracted from my task at hand, _replied Eragon, pushing off of the wall with a deep breath. He steadied himself, trying to keep both his feet planted firmly on the ground even though he felt like he was about to collapse. He couldn't risk Umaroth and the Eldunarí ruining his plans. They'd done it before with Hefring but they won't with him.

Having seen the memory of how Umaroth's zealousness had led to Hefring only escaping with one egg, the white Eldunarí relented. _We will give you time to do what you must but after, we shall seek you out once more and you will explain yourself to us, Eragon Shadeslayer._

_Of course, _said Eragon grateful when Umaroth's presence began to withdraw from his mind. Knowing that they were still watching him, Eragon readied himself. Gripping the Dauthdaert tightly in one hand, he took in a deep breath. Pressing his hand against the latch door, he pushed against it gently. The door gave a near silent groan. He stilled his hand, waiting to see if anyone would come to inspect the slight noise. When he heard nothing, he pushed the trap door open even further. Keeping the door open with one hand, he raised his other hand with the Dauthdaert into the open space glad when nothing happened.

Slowly, Eragon lifted himself up, momentarily blinded by the brightness of the room he'd found himself in. It took him a few seconds to adjust to the new surroundings but when he did, his heart sped up considerably in his chest. He stood in the center of the treasury that Galbatorix prided himself in. To one side of the room there were shelves upon shelves of tomes, all of which were stolen from the great library at Vroengard. Galbatorix may not look it but he treasured the ancient texts just as much as the eggs themselves. On the other side, the wall was decorated with a variety of colored weapons from sparkling blades to gleaming axes. Admiring the wall of weapons from the Riders that Galbatorix and his Forsworn had slain, Eragon began to navigate about the plethora of valuables inside the chamber.

Careful not to touch anything, he kept the Dauthdaert close to his side not risking triggering a ward if he released it. He passed by several odd artifacts, one being a golden hand with a black opal encased in the fingers. He'd the strongest urge to touch the object but decided against it. Continuing onward and deeper into the chamber, he maneuvered about a pile of jewels and easily slipped into between chest upon chest of gold and priceless stones until he came upon three pedestals standing side by side, each bearing an unmarked chest of rich birch.

Eragon knew without a doubt that he was gazing at the chests that held the eggs. Hurrying forward, he paused a feet before the pedestals waiting to see if anything would happen. Two minutes passed in which the chamber remained deathly quiet. Satisfied that he was in the clear, Eragon reached forward and touched the lid of the center chest, then with careful hands, he opened it to find a sapphire oval shaped object resting in the velvet lining of the chest.

His heart caught in his throat and his eyes stung as he stared at the Saphira's egg. She was in there, tiny as she was waiting for him. Letting his hand run over the beautiful surface of the egg with its many facets of sapphire, he turned to the other two chests. Opening each, he found Thorn's and Eridor's eggs.

Staring at the three eggs before him, he felt as if he was in a daze. It had been years since he'd thought of this very moment and now that it was here, he was having trouble believing that this moment was reality.

_There is no time to waste, _Eragon mentally snapped at himself, effectively bringing back his focus. Reaching into the pocket of his breeches, he pulled out a folded silk cloth that's he'd tucked in there earlier. Unfolding it with one hand, he spread the cloth onto the ground then with utmost care transferred the eggs from their chests to the cloth. Wrapping the cloth about the eggs, he began to weave the spell that Umaroth had taught him on Vroengard. When he was done, the eggs disappeared in the pocket of space that he'd created.

Eragon closed the lid to each of the chest making certain that nothing looked out of place, then retracing his steps, he found the open trap door. Unable to keep a smirk off of his face as he took one last glance about the treasury, he jumped down into the tunnel, closing the trap door behind him.

**Some of you may think that this was too easy for Eragon but it's supposed to be easy since he's already known what to expect from the first place. I'm not really going to create any obstacles for him just for the sake of making it super hard. In any case, it's another checkpoint we've reached in TMF and there's only a few more before the convergence happens. On a fun note, I'm typing this as I'm preparing myself to go on a tour of London. These last few days, I feel like I've been perpetually excited which I am. And my god, I stand out like a sore thumb whenever I speak to people, they can definitely tell that I'm a tourist. Ah, it's been great and to cap it off, I'm definitely going to buy the UK edition of Harry Potter because I've always wanted the UK Edition of the series. Anyways, that's it for now! I'll see you all soon!**

**P.S. Please don't review asking me to change the story if you don't like it because I'm not going to and it'll just motivate me less. I'm all for constructive criticism but just don't ask that I change my plot because it disappoints you. Anyways, I'll just leave this thought here.**

**P.P.S. Anyone excited for NBA 2K15? I can't wait to get back home to play it!**


	50. Chapter 49

**Chapter 49**

**Well, I suppose this is slightly awkward. It's been a long time since I've updated. A lot of things have happened since then, my backpacking trip took much longer than I expected (which wasn't a bad thing). I thoroughly enjoyed myself. It's odd, seeing so many new places. It makes you think that the world is so big. In any case, I've been busy trying to get back to regular life after my trip and I was commissioned to do a project for my company so there was that. I mean, life tends to get in the way. And in my free time, I tend to destress on my PS4 or spending time with some of my friends. I never really thought about returning to TMF until now. And to be honest, I don't know how I'm going to continue with this story (I also have another story I'm working on at the moment of Dragon Age Origins). In any case, I know you've all been waiting for this chapter so R&R.**

Staying within the covers of the darkness still dressed in his dark armor, Eragon knelt behind a large tree, taking a moment to rest. He'd been sprinting away from Urû'baen as fast as he could so that he could put distance between himself and Galbatorix when the king found out that his precious eggs were stolen. Though he was strong, Eragon could not afford any confrontations with Galbatorix's henchmen.

Taking in a deep breath, he reached up to remove his helm allowing the cool night breeze to caress his skin. His heart was pounding in his chest otherwise he was relatively calm. Being back in Galbatorix's citadel struck a chord in him. It had been a long time since he'd been in the citadel. It felt the same as the citadel in his other life, cold and oppressive. Releasing another breath, he had the strongest urge undo the spell that was wrapped about the three eggs. However, he couldn't bring himself to do so yet. It wasn't safe.

He had only a small window of time before Galbatorix was alerted of the theft. It would be enough for him to approach Morzan's estate and take away Murtagh and Selena. Then he'd have to travel back to the Varden and prepare himself for the ensuing battle over the eggs. However, before that he would have to think about what to do with the eggs. He wasn't certain if he wanted to reveal to the Varden that he was able to steal all three eggs or if he was only going to present the Varden with one egg. However, that was something to think about for another day.

Giving himself another brief moment to relax, he straightened his shoulders and returned his helm to his head. It was time for him to meet his mother once more. Eragon moved to his feet and with one last glance behind him continued forward with a sprint. Morzan's estate was not far from Urû'baen seeing as he was the king's devoted Forsworn. Nor was it hard to miss as it was a vast castle with an ominous air about it. He had passed it on his way to the city but had largely ignored it. Ducking underneath a branch, he easily avoided the thick roots that protruded from the ground, weaving between the trees with ease. As he was running, a sharp pain peaked in the back of his mind, immobilizing him. In that one moment of petrification, his foot got caught on a curled root causing him to fall forward and slam into the ground, the jarring landing vibrating through his armor and body.

_Do not think that we have forgotten your actions, human, _Umaroth's voice rang in his mind, loud and clear as if the white dragon was directly beside him. Hoping that there was no one near to have heard his sudden fall, Eragon laid prone on the ground, the breath knocked out of him. It wasn't that he'd forgotten about Umaroth and the rest of the Eldunarya. He merely thought they would wait until he had safely accomplished his mission before attempting to contact him once more for information.

_How did you know of our existence? Depending on your answer, we will decide whether you live or die, _warned Umaroth, his thoughts dark and threatening similar to a looming thunderstorm. The dragon's thoughts girdled Eragon's mind preventing him from even attempting to protect himself.

_I told you before when I was in Galbatorix's citadel, I have met you and the Eldunarya in another life, _said Eragon the ancient language reverberating in his mind, evidence to the truth that he spoke. _Back at the citadel, you saw for yourself my past and what it is that I am trying to accomplish. Have you forgotten Umaroth-ebrithil or have you chosen to ignore it?_

Umaroth did not immediately respond to Eragon's questions but instead, Umaroth's thoughts drifted towards Eragon's memories, bringing up glimpse and images of Eragon's past and present life. He could understand Umaroth's reluctance to believe in what Eragon was telling him but a part of the dragon was already accepting the reality of Eragon's true identity.

_It is difficult to believe even if I have seen who you are with my own eyes, _said Umaroth, his deep voice tinged with an edge of caution. There was a pause and something odd—almost alien—surfaced in Umaroth's mind, touching Eragon's only slightly before it disappeared. The dragon did not speak for the longest time before its deep voice rumbled in Eragon's thoughts once again. _Never before has anyone attempted to breach the Black King's citadel and live to tell the tale…How did you accomplish such a feat? The wards in place are complex, complex enough to even have the greatest of spell casters struggle._

Eragon felt his eyes widen. How could Umaroth not have known how he was able to travel back in time? He had seen his memories unless…Had Alagaësia tempered with them? Was it her doing? Alagaësia was a tenacious being, if one could call her that. Trying to understand what such an all knowing spirit wanted was not in a realm of possibilities for Eragon nor was it even in Umaroth's reach despite the aged Eldunarí's power. He could try to explain once more but if Alagaësia truly was behind clearing Umaroth's thoughts about her presence, it would be useless.

_A spirit—rather several ancient spirits helped me, _answered Eragon trying his best to work around the ancient language. The words flowed from his lips, not as fluent as he'd liked but with enough consistency that he didn't sound as if he was hiding something from the dragon. _They reached out to me, informed me of the passage in Galbatorix's citadel, and bid me wait until such a time was possible for me to retrieve the eggs._

There was a slight shift in Umaroth's thoughts, then with increasing strength the dragon's mind began to press against Eragon's mind, shifting through his thoughts and trying to see whether he was telling the truth or not. Trying to keep his thoughts in order, Eragon waited hoping to not give Umaroth a reason to suspect him. He needed the dragon's trust especially in regards to what he'd planned to do with the eggs. As Umaroth shifted through his thoughts, another presence caught Eragon's attention. It was not Arya's since they'd been separated days earlier but it was still familiar. The presence was ancient and similar to that of Alagaësia's.

Could it be her? He waited, feeling the presence shift around his thoughts pushing back Umaroth's whenever the dragon wandered far too deeply into Eragon's mind, threatening to uncover dark secrets that he'd long since protected. Each time Umaroth probed too deeply in matters regarding Eragon's true history, the presence would ease the dragon away, its presence soothing like that of a lullaby. It protected Eragon's history, the secret of Vrangr, and the knowledge of Alagaësia and her true existence. Eventually when Umaroth was done with his inspection, the presence wavered but did not disappear, lingering in case Eragon should be scrutinized once more.

_Your actions, _Umaroth began in an even tone, as if to judge him, _were very foolish or very courageous, elfling. Had you so much as made the slightest mistake, this cause would have been lost to us all…However I must thank you for the risk you have taken to ensure the possibilities of a future free of Galbatorix's control._

The constricting presence of Umaroth began to lighten, allowing Eragon enough free will for him to move to his feet. Dusting himself off, he grabbed the case with the Dauthdaert and strapped it onto his back once more. He turned his head to squint into the distance, trying to make out any lights that would alert him of Galbatorix's discovery that the eggs were stolen. The uniformity of the night sky remained unbroken save for the stars and the moon. Relieved, Eragon began to move once more, running slower than he was at first weary of Umaroth's presence.

_What is it that you intend to do with the eggs? You have not told the Varden about your plans, choosing instead to carry it out on your own whims, _Umaroth's voice rumbled, the words rolling around in Eragon's mind as he ran. Brow twitching slightly at the dragon's transparent insult, he did not argue, deciding not to risk an argument with Umaroth since he was pressed for time.

_I plan to return to the Varden and gather the leaders of the races together so that we may hold council over the eggs and what to do in the coming future, _Eragon responded, running along the forest path with ease, his eyes able to make out the outlines of the thick trees in his path. _I have stayed with the Varden and helped to forge an army that is capable of standing against the Empire. However, an army is not enough to defeat Galbatorix. What we have always needed…was a Rider._

It was strange when he heard himself say such words when in his past, he'd been the rider that everyone had placed their hopes on. He'd been the person to kill Galbatorix. A strange sense of anxiety filled him when he thought about the looming convergence and how, the chances of him being born as he was—as he'd grown up to be—was filled with uncertainty. He knew that his mother was with child. He knew that she was carrying a child that had the other half of his soul, yet he couldn't trust that once she gave birth that the child would be him.

Whether or not Umaroth could feel Eragon's melancholy the dragon did not question him, instead he turned to address Eragon's words, approval and agreement lining his own response. _Aye, in that you speak the truth. Without a dragon rider, all of the Varden's efforts amount to nothing. Steel may be able to destroy cities, magic decimate empires, but dragons have enough might to rule the land and sky alone. An army means little to Galbatorix so long as there is no rider to leader it. Now let me ask you another question, Eragon shur'tugal. Do you indeed to take an egg for yourself?_

_No, _he replied firmly. He'd already been selfish enough to ask Alagaësia to do the unthinkable and tear his soul in half, forcing his other much younger self to grow up incomplete. He already took Arya's love in this time from the other Eragon. He wasn't going to take Saphira. He'd lived a brief but happy life with his dragon and deep in his heart, he knew that he was going to see her again. This Saphira belonged with the Eragon of this world. _I am a rider no longer. I shall not delude myself into thinking otherwise._

_It is reassuring to hear you say so, _said Umaroth in a voice of approval. Dodging around a tree, he took a moment to survey his surroundings. He'd been traveling in the direction of Morzan's estate for the past few minutes. It was perhaps another half an hour away. Morzan, as Formora had told Eragon when he'd asked, was the only Forsworn that lived close to Urû'baen. Whether or not it was out of loyalty or a show of power to the other Forsworn, Eragon did not know. _What is it that you plan to do now? You are not returning to the Varden._

_Returning to the Varden now with the eggs would be too obvious, _said Eragon. He'd gone through great lengths to keep his presence in the Empire hidden. Had he not, he would've never asked Rhunön to forge the suit of armor for him to hide his appearance. _It will be the first place Galbatorix will look once he finds out that the eggs are gone._

_Yet if you tarry too long outside of the Varden, you will be open to more enemies, _Umaroth reasoned, _remember that the fate of Alagaësia rest in your hands. You cannot afford to misstep. It would be simple enough for us to subdue you but because of your deed, you have earned our trust. Do not misplace it._

_I understand, _promised Eragon turning his head when he heard sounds coming from the trees. Stilling himself so that his armor did not clank, Eragon glanced upwards trying to see where the noise was coming from. A raven flew by overhead, releasing a screech into the night. More anxious than he thought he might be, he took a deep breath trying to calm his mind. _Please give me some time Umaroth, once I return to the Varden you can contact me once more but I need to be able to focus._

Sounding somewhat displeased at being instructed to do something, Umaroth eventually conceded, knowing that the danger was now tenfold with the eggs being in Eragon's possession. Having no choice but to trust Eragon, the dragon relented. _Very well, _Umaroth said, agreeing to his terms, _however, if you take too long, then we will have no choice but to intervene. Is that understood, Eragon?_

_Yes._

Lingering for only moments longer, Umaroth's presence slowly ebbed from his mind until it faded entirely. Taking in a deep breath, Eragon inhaled and then exhaled thrice trying his best to remain in control of his emotions. The last few days had been rather daunting with Alagaësia's revelations, Arya's soul being taken from him, and now the three eggs in his custody. It was enough to have anyone nervous even someone like Eragon.

_Now, to Morzan's estate, _thought Eragon as he continued traveling, cloaked in the safety of the dark night. He'd seen it in passing while traveling to Urû'baen but had kept a safe distance away from it in case he attracted too much attention from the guards stationed there. He'd kept safely to the roads during the day and veering off at night. Having never been to Morzan's estate in his past life, Eragon had the perfect chance to learn more about the Forsworn before he'd left the Varden to carry out his mission. Formora had been more than willing to provide Eragon with plenty of details about Morzan, almost surprising him with the extent of her knowledge on the Forsworn. He could remember their conversation as clear as day. It had been the one time when Formora had been straightforward with him, devoid of her usual sarcasm and witticism.

"_Morzan, you say?" Stilling her fork, Formora's blues eyes held his in a questioning stare. Eragon nodded, fingers deftly peeling the tangerine in his hand. By pure coincidence, he'd come across the rider while she was returning from the dragon hold, no doubt having visited her dragon earlier that day. Deciding to indulge her, Eragon had accepted Formora's invitation to lunch at the mess hall. "Why the sudden interest in him? I remember you telling me that Brom would be the one to kill him."_

"_With him being the only Forsworn left within the Empire, I need to know what I can about him. He will most likely be even more dangerous now that he is the sole rider left in Galbatorix's service," Eragon supplied easily, his eyes never leaving Formora's. She stared at him for a long time, her expression unreadable. Then with a somewhat distant look, Formora lowered her fork, resting her chin on the palm of her hand as she contemplated his question with utmost seriousness._

"_Morzan…has always been different from the rest of the Forsworn," she said eventually, the fingers of her free hand gliding around the edge of her cup._

"_Different? How?" Curious, Eragon brought a tangerine slice to his lips, enjoying the sweetness of the fruit as he patiently listened for what Formora had to say about her former comrade if she ever considered Morzan to be one._

"_You know that story, do you not? Morzan was the one who enabled Galbatorix. If not for him, Galbatorix would have never been able to steal Shruikan's egg. What compelled Morzan to listen to the ravings of a fugitive I will never know," Formora said in a low voice. Her fingers continued to glide around the cup almost as if she was restless. "However, if there is one matter regarding Morzan that I can say with certainty it is that he has a weak mind."_

_Eragon had heard so from Brom once. His mother had loathed to talk about Morzan and when she was reunited with Murtagh, the subject of the Forsworn became taboo within their family. All Eragon knew of Morzan was the little that Selena had shared to him or the brief moments that Brom had explained his history to Eragon. Regardless, the two of them more than once pointed out that Morzan indulged himself in drinking and secular trivialities._

"_You met him once before during your imprisonment back at my estate before I defected to the Varden," said Formora, briefly lifting her gaze to Eragon, her expression slightly contrite as if to silently apologize to him for the tortures she'd put him through however uninvolved she was. He lifted a shoulder in a silent shrug, communicating to her that he did not blame her. "Morzan looks and acts confident but he is far from it. They say that those who come across as arrogant merely do so to overcompensate for their failings…And Morzan plays that part brilliantly. To add, not only is he a strong rider, but his fierce devotion to Galbatorix has always held him above the other Forsworn. Combined with his history with the king, it is little wonder why Morzan has always been the favorite vassal."_

"_You sound bitter," observed Eragon to which Formora responded with a light chuckle, her face lighting up in amusement._

"_Do I?" Corners of her red lips curling upwards, she continued, "Quite the contrary to what you believe, I never cared much for status while I served Galbatorix. Morzan can be the pet all he wanted, I did not care so long as Galbatorix left me to my own devices. While he and I have never had much disagreements in the past, I found myself both grudgingly respecting him and reviled by him. He is a cruel man, who drowned himself in ales and spirits more often than not. Yet, he is also cunning, manipulative, and ruthless but most of all he is always aware of his actions. Morzan is not insane like most believe Galbatorix to be…No, he has a clarity about him that is sharp as a sword whenever he is sober, which is why he is so dangerous."_

"_What else can you tell me about him?" asked Eragon, taking a long drink from his tea having finished eating the last of his lunch earlier._

"_Morzan is also very impatient and impulsive," Formora said, easily detailing the Forsworn's personality for Eragon to understand. "For example, his estates may be guarded under heavy wards but he tends to overlook the simpler details which makes them weak. He also has a tendency for the dramatics, wearing polished armor in broad daylight wherever he goes as a silent challenge to those foolish enough to oppose him…In short, Morzan is a cunning, manipulative, and arrogant man-child that must have his ego stroked and rewards thrown his way least he enters a temper tantrum."_

"_And Galbatorix was willing to let this pass?" Eragon found that surprising. Having grown up underneath Galbatorix's tutelage, he knew how strict the Mad King was. He never thought Galbatorix would be one to easily indulge anyone, not even Morzan._

"_Morzan knows better than to irritate Galbatorix and Galbatorix lets Morzan do as he pleases because he ultimately serves him in the end. It is akin to letting a dog roam free in your fields as it wishes so long as it returns to its master. The same principle applies to Galbatorix and Morzan," explained Formora. She took a deep drink from her cup, exhaling when she was done almost as if talking about Morzan was physically tiring. "Nothing cultivates obedience more than the impression of free will and power…at least for the weak minded."_

"_What do you think about Morzan? You sound like you did not get along well with him," Eragon commented to which Formora lightly laughed, humored by his question._

"_Your question tells me that you were under the delusion that the Forsworn were on good terms in the first place," she shook her head, "Whatever we were, Eragon, we were not comrades. The thirteen of us had many squabbles, most of which were to decide the pecking order. The balance of power was a delicate matter amongst our circle. The only reason we came together was because of our own personal desire. There was no other unifying factor apart from Galbatorix to keep us at bay."_

_Taking all this information in stride, Eragon returned his empty cup onto the table, trying to think of what else to ask Formora. He had a clearer image of Morzan in his mind now having listened to what Formora had to say about him, but there was one thing that was particularly bothering him. He eyed the elf across from him, wondering how to ask her. After some time in contemplation, Eragon decided to be direct._

"_Do you think Morzan is capable of love?"_

_Surprise flitted across Formora's expression. Clearly she was not expecting such a question from him. The familiar mocking look was back on her face. "He loves himself that much is clear," then in a tone filled with feigned curiosity, "Why? Did you have your eyes set on him?"_

_Fighting the urge to roll his eyes at her jest, Eragon leveled her with a serious look. "Formora," he said in a tone that told her he wanted an actual answer from her._

_Her mocking expression slowly gave away to an inscrutable one, a mysterious smile touching her lips. Blue eyes looking somewhat distant, Formora turned her gaze away from him instead focusing her eyes off to the side. Then in a soft voice, she spoke, "I was capable of love."_

In the distance, he saw the shadow of a large castle illuminated at certain points by the torches that lined the castle walls. Crouching in the shadows of the trees, Eragon studied Morzan's estate as the memory of his conversation with Formora ebbed away. He didn't dare to get too close least of all he tripped several wards. Whilst he was able to glean more of Morzan's personality with his conversation with Formora, he was unable to learn about the structure and layout of the lone Forsworn's estate which meant that he was blind going into such a task. The only person that was capable of leading him through the castle was Selena.

Closing his eyes, he collected himself as he steeled the barriers that locked away the dark secrets in his mind before reaching out towards the castle in search for Selena's mind. Having met her only twice, Eragon had a vague sense of his mother's mind and what he didn't know, he attempted to fill in with his interactions with the Selena from his original Alagaësia. Careful not to touch the minds of the castle inhabitants too much, Eragon weaved between the thoughts listening for Selena's. He found her in the northern wing of the estate, waiting for him.

_Eragon, _the relief in her voice was palpable as their minds touched, forming a tentative connection. His mother's thoughts were a combination of anxiety, worry, and hope—aching hope to see her child once more and leave the confines of Morzan's estate. _I was beginning to worry that you would not come._

_I promised I would, _Eragon replied, closing his mind to everything else but Selena, their connection fragile like a piece of twine, _I apologize if I was late in coming. Have I kept you waiting long?_

_No, I arrived perhaps a mere ten minutes before you did. My emotions have been awry as of late, _said Selena her thoughts tinted with her underlying exhaustion. Eragon could only expect as much seeing as his mother was with child. Selena's voice brought him back to attention, _what is it that you have planned, Eragon?_

_Is Morzan currently at the estate?_

That was the first matter of business he'd to address. He wanted to see if the Forsworn was anywhere near the premise. Eragon didn't doubt his abilities if he had to fight Morzan but he rather avoid any and all unnecessary confrontation with the Forsworn while still in possession of the eggs.

_No, he is away on duty for Galbatorix, _said Selena, _only his guards are stationed here. There are several mages as well. Otherwise, the estate is mostly guarded through wards—all of which Morzan, himself, made._

_Wards are of little consequence to me, _said Eragon. With the Dauthdaert in his possession, not even wards made by Galbatorix would hold against him. With Morzan absent, taking Selena and Murtagh away from the estate was going to be easier than he'd anticipated so long as he didn't become reckless with his confidence. _Selena, I need you to listen to me carefully. I will enter the estate and rescue your son first, however, I need you to guide me through the castle. The last thing we need is to alert those stationed inside and have them hide your son away. Do you know where they are keeping him?_

_In the southeast wing, _Selena whispered almost afraid that her thoughts might be too loud, _Morzan has kept him there since I birthed him nearly three years ago. The most complex of wards are built around the southeast wing, it keeps everyone apart from Morzan, the maid, and several guards out._

_I see, _untying the cloth that kept the case tied to his back, Eragon opened it to reveal the Dauthdaert, its tip glowing an eerie green in the darkness. Taking hold of it, Eragon rewrapped the case and tied it to his back once more. _You will have to look through my eyes and tell me where it is I need to go as well as who to avoid coming too close in contact with. The moment I have your son, I shall take care of the rest._

_I understand._

Selena's mind tentatively pushed deeper into Eragon's thoughts. It was a feeling similar to that of cool water flowing over his skin as his mother connected her mind with his, integrating their thoughts so that she could easily see through his eyes. Trying to not let the odd sensation get to him, he waited for her instructions.

_From where you are currently, if you continue towards the estate, there is a side door near the corner tower. The guards oftentimes keep it unlocked since they take regular patrols around the estate perimeter, switching with each other every so often. Sneak in through there but be mindful of the other guards stationed in the tower, _instructed Selena, an image of the door flashed through his mind as she showed him a brief view of it from her memory.

Muffling the sound of his armor clanking as well as his feet running across the ground with magic, Eragon sprinted towards the door finding it unguarded. He kept close to the castle wall, Dauthdaert gripped tightly in hand. Eyes searching through the semi-darkness, he found the door that Selena had mentioned. Searching with his mind to see if there were any guards near the door, Eragon pushed it open gently, slipping inside the castle. The interior was similar to a mess hall with a few tables and chairs occupying the space. However, there wasn't a solider about.

_Careful, most of them are patrolling the battlements, _warned Selena, _they will be quick to respond if they hear anything unusual._

_I will keep that in mind. Where to next, Selena?_

_Through the door across from you is a hallway that branches at the end. Take the right hall and continue until you reach a staircase. Head down the stairs into the cellar. It will lead you to the kitchens and you can access the southeast wing through the stairs on that end, _Selena supplied, guiding Eragon with practiced ease through the estate.

Following her instructions, he carefully made his way through the door down the hallway. Ears alert to the sound of guards, he was grateful when he did not encounter any. Once he reached the end of the desolate stone hallway, he turned right and continued until he reached a small open area. He froze when he spotted a guard standing near the stairs.

_Are the guards here protected by wards? _Eragon asked Selena as he eyed the man. The guard was armored in light armor, looking completely at ease as his eyes moved from left to right, dutifully checking to see if there was anything out of the ordinary. Eragon could have easily put him to sleep with a spell but knowing that there were mages present made him weary. If they were warding the soldiers, the moment he tried to cast a spell, the mages would be alert of his presence.

_Yes, trying to deal with them using magic will alert the entire castle, _Selena cautioned, _you need to find another way._

Peering around the corner at the guard, Eragon frowned behind his helm. He couldn't very well just rush the guard and kill him before he could say anything. Trying to think of what he could possibly do, his eyes landed on the window across from the soldier. Focusing his attention on the window, he murmured beneath his breath. There was a moment of utmost silence before the sound of shattering glass filled the air, the guard cursing vehemently at suddenly being startled.

"Fortress is old enough to start falling apart at the seams," the guard muttered as he walked up to the shattered window. Seeing his chance, Eragon rushed forward. Before the guard could so much as inspect the glass pieces, Eragon was upon him, hands reaching around the man's shoulder. Clamping his armored hand over the guard's mouth, Eragon twisted the man's head in a quick circle, hearing the sound of his neck bone cracking.

_Hide the body, _Selena advised as Eragon removed his hand from the dead guard's mouth able to make out the dark red liquid that coated the metal. Glancing outside, Eragon took notice of the bushes that lined the castle wall and without further ado, threw the dead body out of the window, watching as it landed with a muffle thud in the bush. Repairing the window, he picked up the Dauthdaert having dropped it earlier as he killed the guard. Continuing down the stairs, he entered the cellar which was empty, traveled through another door that led him to the kitchens, and finally back up the stairs into a spacious landing.

_Be careful here, Morzan always has a mage on duty for fear that I may try and break his rules to go visit my son, _said Selena, her tone bitter and resentful, _down the hall is a pair of double doors. They lead to the southeast wing. However, the doors are warded so that only those that Morzan chose are allowed to pass through. Unwanted visitors will trip the wards._

_I have a countermeasure against wards, _Eragon reassured her, walking up to the door. Placing his hand flat against the wooden frame, he tested to see if it was locked. It wasn't. With the slightest push, he eased the door open, hand tightening on the Dauthdaert. Crossing the threshold, he smirked when all remained silent. Morzan had never took into account the existence of such an ancient weapon that was impervious to most if not all magic. Keeping close to the wall, Eragon searched for the mage's presence.

The man was wandering about the area, studying him for a few moments, Eragon frowned. The mage did not move in a uniform patrol, rather he seemed to walk about on mere whim. Careful to avoid him, he waited for Selena's guidance taking note of how luxurious the castle interior was. The drapery bore the crest of the empire, the cloth made from silk or velvet of the sort. Ornate candles lit the hallway at several intervals. The concrete ground had rugs overlaying the stone, paintings decorated the walls, and tables with vases occupied hallway corners. It wasn't like Eragon's modest estate back at Urû'baen when he lived with Selena in the original Alagaësia. Morzan lived in leisure, his wealth so transparently portrayed.

_Take the left hall and continue down it until you reach a door, through the door is another hall. Go straight down that hall and turn left and at the very end of that hall is my son's room. However, take care for there will be guards stationed there, _said Selena her voice tight with anxiety at the thought of being able to see her soon combined with the possibility of them failing in rescuing Murtagh. Slinking through the hallway with the comfort that he couldn't be heard due to his spell, Eragon contemplated whether or not he should make himself invisible but thought against it since the likelihood of the guards noticing his shadow was too great.

By the time he'd reached the junction where he was supposed to take the left hallway, Eragon peered around the corner, spotting the two guards stationed on either side of an ornate wooden door that was bolted on the outside. Unsure of how to divert their attention, he paused when he heard the scream of a child muffled by the wooden door.

_The scar on his back is paining him, _said Selena in a broken whisper, _a few weeks earlier, Morzan had been inebriated and had struck my son, Murtagh, with his sword…Ever since, the pain would wake Murtagh at night. It happens so often that they keep a stock of poultice and pain potions in his room to treat him._

That was his opening. Eragon watched as both guards shook their heads, unbolting the door to enter the room. Pushing away from the corner, he rushed down the hallway, Dauthdaert flashing in hand. Driving the lance straight through one of the guards with a sickening squelch, before the other guard could react, Eragon withdrew the lance and pierce the other guard through his neck, silencing his cry of help. Ignoring the spray of blood that now coated his armor, Eragon dislodge the Dauthdaert reaching down with one hand to grab a fallen guard, throwing him inside the room. He did the same for his companion. However, there was nothing he could do about the blood that smeared the carpet and door.

Entering Murtagh's room, Eragon pushed the door closed behind him. Inside, the screaming had turned into whimpers, the source of it curled up on a large bed. A three-year-old Murtagh was sobbing as he tried to alleviate the pain that the scar on his back was causing him. It was odd, thought Eragon, to see his older brother at such a young age and in so much pain. Eragon knew that Murtagh had been pained by the scar that Morzan had given him at times but when it was healed by the Agaetí Blödhren, he never gave it much thought anymore.

_Please, Eragon, give him his potion and use the poultice on his back else his wound will become inflamed even further, _begged Selena unable to bear the sight of her child suffering like so. His mother was close to tears as she had to watch through Eragon's eyes how Murtagh struggled, unable to help him directly.

_Where are they?_

_By his bed stand, the amber liquid is the potion he drinks. The green salve is used for his wound, _explained Selena, her voice rushed as Murtagh gave another agonized sob, crying out for his mother.

_While I do so, I need you to ready yourself. Grab whatever is necessary and meet me outside, preferably with a two horses for travel, I shall bring Murtagh with me, _said Eragon moving to the bed stand where many vials of potions and herbs were waiting. _Try not to be suspicious Selena._

_I—yes, of course, just please take care of my son, _with one last plea, Selena reluctantly withdrew from his mind to prepare herself.

With Selena's presence gone from his mind, Eragon glanced down at the squirming child, still somewhat in disbelief at the sight of his older brother in such a helpless state. It was in that moment, that he felt an intense hatred for Morzan as he watched Murtagh sob, his small frame shaking with the effort of his tear and pain.

Conjuring a werelight so he could better see in the darkness of the room, Eragon stilled himself as Murtagh lifted his head from his pillow, gray eyes widening at the sight of Eragon's menacing armor. Releasing a terrified cry, the young boy struggled to crawl away from him but the pain his scar was causing him, immobilized him in place. Unsure of how to deal with a panicking child, Eragon decided to be as comforting as he could.

"Do not move too much," he said to Murtagh calmly, reaching up to remove the gauntlet around his right arm, freeing it from the armored metal glove. "I am here to help you, Murtagh. Your mother sent me."

"Mother?" the little boy repeated, hopefully. He stopped struggling, gray eyes staring up at Eragon in childish innocence.

"Yes, I am here to take you and your mother away from this place," Eragon said, reaching for the salve to uncork. Before he could pour it onto his hand, he was reaching down to pull up Murtagh's shirt. "I will apply the salve to your wound, Murtagh. Try to lie still on your stomach so you do not feel so much discomfort."

The child nervously nodded, lying as still as he could on his stomach the hope of seeing his mother allowing him to trust Eragon. Lifting his shirt, Eragon felt sick when he saw the angry red weal that stretch the whole of Murtagh's back like an angry snake wrapping about the child. Wondering how a child could possibly survive such a brutal attack, Eragon poured the cool salve onto the palm of his hand then gently as he could, he began to rub the salve onto Murtagh's back. Murtagh flinched and trembled, whimpering past his silent tears but otherwise trying his best to remain silent. When he was done, Eragon cleaned his hand and pulled Murtagh's shirt back down.

"Now, you must drink this potion," said Eragon grabbing the flask with the amber liquid. "Your mother told me that it was a pain potion."

Murtagh nodded, small hands reaching up to wipe at his tear-stained face.

"Can you sit up?" asked Eragon.

"A little," Murtagh murmured, carefully sitting up, lips trembling as his body was still racked with pain from his inflamed wound. Eragon handed the vial to the child, watching as Murtagh hurriedly downed the contents in one long drink, eager to have the pain potion dull the agony of his injury. When he was done, he set the vial on the table and watched Eragon with wide eyes, unsure of what to make of him. "Who are you?"

"A friend of you mother's," was all Eragon said as he pulled his gauntlet back on. The moment he was done, he caught sight of Murtagh staring at the lance in Eragon's hand in slight fear. "Do not worry, I am not here to harm you, Murtagh," he reached out and gently placed a hand on Murtagh's head, noticing that his dark brown hair was sweaty. "I am here to take you away from this place. Your mother is waiting for us."

Unsure of what to make of the situation, the three-year-old merely nodded mutely. Eragon took a glance at Murtagh's body. He was mostly dressed save for shoes. Finding a pair near the door, Eragon helped to slide them on Murtagh's feet, since bending even slightly would be asking too much of Murtagh. When he was done, Eragon straightened, reaching with his left arm to hold Murtagh against his chest, careful to keep the child away from the sharp edges of his armor.

"Let us go, Murtagh."

Murtagh peered at him, a vulnerable expression on his face. "Will I have to go back?" he asked quietly, giving Eragon pause. In that moment, Eragon was reminded of himself and how trapped he felt as a child, being subjected to Faust's tortures with his mother unable to help him. He would never allow another child to go through such physical and mental torture. And it was even worse for Murtagh since his torturer was his father. Shifting Murtagh in his arms, Eragon shook his head, his voice determined.

"Never."

**So, how was the chapter? I hope it was up to standards for all of you. In any case, I hope this chapter clarified some things for you all. In regards to my update speed, for TMF I'm uncertain about how frequently I'll update it since I've been really busy lately. However, rest assured that I'm still alive and I'm healthy. It's just that life happens and time just flies by so quick. And lately, I've found the joy of the Dragon Age series, so I've devoted most of my time to it. I'm also very excited for Persona 5 and Fallout 4 coming this holiday season. In any case, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. ****Hope to see you all soon.**


	51. Chapter 50

**Chapter 50**

**And so, it's been another long wait for this chapter. I was actually planning on posting this chapter a while back but then I had a rather large problem that prevented me from doing so. Recently, I've been having these rather intense back pains that make it difficult for me to sit down for long periods of time which I tend to do when writing. And because of the pain, I've just been put off by the idea of sitting at my computer since my back would always protest. Though the pain has let up after some treatment and added exercise. I've also been very busy trying to catch up with all of my favorite games and the new games that'd been coming out (Fallout 4, Fire Emblem, Devil Survivor, and whatnot). Since I know I've kept you all waiting for a rather long time, have fun reading! R&R!**

"Murtagh!"

The name leaving her in a hushed shout, Selena rushed forward hands reaching out for her son who eagerly reached for her, face scrunched as if he was about to suddenly burst into tears. The covers of the trees shrouded them in darkness, the only visible light coming from the werelight floating gently above Eragon's shoulder. It was dim, illuminating a radius of three yards so as to prevent their location from being found by the enemy.

_There's only a short period of time left before they realize what's happen, _thought Eragon having mentally kept track of the minutes that'd passed since he'd left Morzan's estate. If he was going to force fate's hand, he would have to hurry. Turning back to Selena, Eragon paused momentarily frozen at the sight of his mother, cradling Murtagh to her, face stained with tears as she beheld her crying son. The sight made him feel content tinged with slight longing.

He truly was happy for their reunion. Selena and Murtagh deserved to be together as mother and son. If he played his hand correctly, soon Brom would be reunited with his lover and the two of them could live a peaceful life in Carvahall, if only for a short while. Snapping himself out of his revere, he glanced behind Selena catching sight of two horses tied to a tree not far off. She'd successfully managed to secure mounts. The only thing left was to deal with the entire estate.

"Take Murtagh and ride north," said Eragon voice muffled through his helm.

Not bothering to wipe her eyes, Selena shifted her gaze to him, one hand curled beneath Murtagh while the other was gently stroking her son's dark hair. "What of you? What will you do now?" she asked quietly, carefully shifting Murtagh in her arms as to avoid irritating his injury.

"In order for you and your son to escape, the servants must be dealt with," responded Eragon. He was glad that she couldn't see his expression. He wasn't proud of what he was going to do but it needed to be done. For Morzan to believe that something had befallen both his wife and son, Eragon was going to raze his estate to the ground, leaving no evidence behind of Selena's betrayal.

"You plan to return to the estate?" asked Selena eyes wide with worry. "Morzan may return at any moment. The spellcasters could have set the alarms off to warn him. We need to escape while we still can."

He doubted the spellcasters would willing contact Morzan to inform him that his son had been snatched from his estate. If they did, Morzan would most likely kill them out of anger. Ignoring Selena, Eragon walked over to the horses unflinching as they startled, tossing their heads. Reaching out with his mind to calm them, Eragon waited for both stallions to calm. Glad that Selena had chosen dark coated steeds, he led one of them over to where she still stood with Murtagh leaving the other tied to the tree.

"Ride towards the direction of Carvahall, go three miles out and wait for me. It should not take me long before I join you," instructed Eragon, adjusting his grip on the Dauthdaert, the spear giving off a faint emerald glow. "Keep to the shadows of the forest and avoid traveling near Urû'baen at all cost. The city will soon enough be in a disarray, you traveling close to its borders will only invite danger. If you see any soldiers, I ask that you steer clear of them. If you cannot, then dispose of them in a manner that will not lead back to you."

"Eragon, what is happening? Have you done something to offend Galbatorix in his very own capital?" asked Selena, her earlier concern gone to be replaced with bewilderment. Murtagh, having calmed down from the sudden stress of being rescued by a stranger dressed in terrifying armor, quietly laid his head against his mother's shoulder, looking ready to fall asleep despite the strangeness of the situation he was in.

"Offense would be a light way to describe it," muttered Eragon, digging the tip of Niernen into the ground to free his right hand as he remembered something that could be of use. Grabbing his pack which he'd retrieved from its hiding spot earlier when he'd escaped the estate with Murtagh, Eragon reached inside to pull out the cloak that Angela had given to him as a parting gift. Perhaps the witch had foresaw that he would need it in this particular situation. Despite the fact that Angela could be annoying at times, he knew without a doubt that she was a friend he could count on. It was something for him to think about in the near future in any case.

"What is this?" asked Selena when Eragon clasped the cloak about her shoulder, making sure that the silky material covered both her and Murtagh. Selena glanced at the cloak, most likely feeling the ancient magic imbued within it.

"A gift given to me by Angela. Perhaps you remember her from your brief visit to the Varden many years ago," answered Eragon watching as recognition lit Selena's gaze. The woman nodded, a slight smile pulling at her lips as if she were remembering a fond memory. Eragon's brow twitched. He knew for a fact that Angela got along well within Selena's presence. Or perhaps the correct wording would be that the witch didn't go to great lengths to annoy his mother particularly. The two of them had always been on amicable terms from what he could remember of their relationship in his other life.

"Yes, the pleasant witch who kept me company while I was being held prisoner," recounted Selena. Eragon frowned at the word _prisoner, _even when it was said in jest. Did it seem like he was holding her captive at the time? He'd thought he'd been a gracious host. "What does this cloak do? I imagine it must be a rather unique item coming from her."

"More or less," agreed Eragon, reaching out to gently grip his mother around her waist surprising her. Then with utmost ease, he lifted her up and onto the stallion, careful not to be rough seeing as it would most likely jostle and harm Murtagh. "So long as you have this cloak donned, it will keep your enemies from detecting you. Though I doubt it will work on foes like Durza or his ilk, it will help you avoid nuisances like Galbatorix's soldiers or even slavers, if you come across them."

"What of you? Will you not need this?" She tugged on the cloak, brown eyes gazing at him in concern. Eragon shook his head, dismissing her question. He had a century of preparation for this moment. On top of that, he also had the advantage of being Galbatorix's pupil in his previous life. He was confident enough to believe that no spellcaster could best him, even if they were personally trained by Morzan.

"How is Murtagh?" asked Eragon, tightening the saddle on the stallion. Once he believed the straps to be comfortably buckled, he placed the reins in his mother's hands. The dark haired boy, covered as he was by the cloak was worryingly quiet apart from a few muffled sniffles.

"Most likely in shock," Selena said, shifting Murtagh in her arms as she accepted the reins. "His injury acting up combined with your sudden rescue must have startled him greatly…..Also, to see your armor in the dead of night would frighten any child quite frankly."

To emphasize her point, she touched the end of one of the horns protruding from his helm. The intention of his armor had always been meant to scare and intimidate others. Hearing that the younger version of his brother had been frightened by it left him feeling rather contrite. As if realizing this, Selena smiled, her expression still filled with anxiety yet her smile was filled with genuine warmth.

"I've learned that humans could be the worst of monsters. Frightful it may be, the person lying beneath the armor has shown me more kindness than I deserve," the corner of her eyes crinkled, Selena curling her fingers inwards to form a fist to lightly knock against his helm. "Your kindness makes you awkward, Era—Pardon, Gabranth."

"Enough with the idle chatter. Remember to ride north," voice gruff as a strange warmth clouded his mind momentarily, Eragon forced himself to focus. He had been caught unawares by Selena's warm smile. It was the same smile a mother would give a cherished wayward child. "If I do not join you by daybreak, continue towards Carvahall. I will rendezvous with you there."

"Very well," she pursed her lips in determination, hands gripping the reins tighter, "I will do you as say, Gabranth. Therefore, promise me that you will come find me once you've finished here. I believe my son would like to give thanks to his savior, as will I."

"I promise you."

Stepping back from her astride the stallion, Eragon watched as Selena's smile widened. She held his gaze for a moment longer then with a snap of the reins was galloping off in the direction of Carvahall, guiding her steed with ease between the large trees. Eragon turned his attention back to the second stallion. He led it to one tree and tied the reins about the base, calming it with his mind as he did so.

_Stay and wait, _Eragon ordered tightening the reins with one last knot, _I will be back for you._

The horse snorted quietly in response, unperturbed by his armor or the glowing spear in his hand. With one last gentle stroke to the horse's head, he turned back toward the direction of the estate. Not making any sounds, Eragon quietly found his way back to the estate grounds. Crouching low to the ground to keep to the shadows, he took a moment to study the fortress. After killing several people, he'd assume that the servants and guards would be on alert. Yet the estate was silent, none of the torches lit in the windows or guards scampering about the guards in search of Murtagh and Selena.

_No matter, _thought Eragon as he stood metal clanking slightly. He glanced at his metal gloves, fingers sharpened at the end to allow him to pierce through any obstacles with ease. He moved his fingers, brows furrowing at the sound of the metal clinking against each other. Murmuring a spell underneath his breath, he moved his fingers once more. Complete silence. Deciding to cloak his footsteps in silence as well, Eragon glanced back towards the estate. The first order of business was to eliminate the spellcasters. Once they were dealt with, everything else would come easily.

Eragon contemplated how he would exactly approach the estate without Selena's aid. She'd been his guide as he went to search for her son. With her heading towards Carvahall he was blind as to the interior of the fortress. The little of it he'd seen during his rescue of Murtagh was not enough to build a complete mental layout of the grounds and the guard patrols. Above, a murder of crows passed distracting him with their loud cries ringing in the near silent night.

His lips curled into a slight smirk. If he couldn't peer through the eyes of the soldiers, he would have to be more creative. Reaching out with his mind to the crows, Eragon watched through the gaps in his helm as they began to circle about the fortress, each crow landing on a window sill or tower ledge, giving him the most optimal viewpoint in certain areas. With a method of surveillance to guide him, Eragon hurried towards the fortress still cloaked in his armor, blending in with the shadows casted by night. Only a few hours lingered, then daybreak would come. Haste was of the utmost importance now.

Slipping into one of the backdoors leading to the cellar after avoiding a patrol of two guards, Eragon quietly lowered the wooden beam to bar the door from the inside. If things didn't go as planned, it would cut off one point of entrance for reinforcement. The cellar was dark, the only sounds home to the underground space being the slight scurry of mice that he could hear. Remembering Selena's directions since he'd previously been here, Eragon made his way through the side door into the kitchen, past another door, and into the southeast wing. There he waited silently beside a large ornate vase almost at the same height as he.

For some odd reason, he had the urge to reach out with his right arm and tip the overly embellished vase over. _Formora is becoming a bad influence on me, _thought Eragon almost fondly as he remembered the numerous times she'd purposely struck expensive wares made by the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin merchants whenever they were strolling through the markets in Tronjheim together. As much as Eragon enjoyed watching her antagonize them, he also had to pay the reparations each time Formora did so. Eventually, the former Forsworn had agreed to call it a truce with the clan that had once called fervently for her blood to be spilt since Eragon did no longer want to waste any more coin, however amusing it was.

Searching out one of the many crows stationed about the castle, Eragon peered through their eyes easing their anxiety with his mind as he did so. Despite the overwhelming lack of color, he was able to make out the distinct shapes of the different objects within the estate. The first order of business was to deal with the spellcasters. Though he'd once served under Galbatorix, it was with Formora's assistance that he was able to detect even the subtlest hints of magic.

"_You want me to teach you how to detect dark magic?" Formora crossed her arms, staring at him with a raised brow. After the usual meeting with Deynor, Eragon sought the Forsworn out knowing her well enough to search her out without needing any added help. Formora, since joining the Varden, had limited herself to few places within Tronjheim, either not trusting the dwarves enough to walk about freely or because she couldn't be bothered to take in the sights of the great dwarven capital. He'd found her in the dragon hold spending time with her brown dragon, who was rarely seen outside of the hold._

"_Yes."_

"_You have done well by yourself so far. Why do you need my tutelage?" She lightly smirked, raising a brow, "Say I agree, will your pride be able to handle having me as a teacher?"_

_Eragon kept from sighing in exasperation. Formora was in her usual teasing habit, he could tell. As much as he wanted to be annoyed with her, he was also one to blame for always allowing her to indulge in her slightly sadistic nature._

"_Will you help or not, Formora?" asked Eragon, watching as the haughty yet beautiful elf push herself off the wall she was leaning against, uncrossing her arms to hold her hands behind her back in an almost coy manner._

"_Is that how you ask for a favor?" The smirk on her lips was enough to tell him that she was enjoying herself greatly._

_In any other situation, Eragon would have left the conversation as is in search for a better solution. However, Formora was the only one he could come to being a Forsworn. Even as Galbatorix's pupil, Eragon was not granted knowledge on every aspect relating to dark magic. He had a feeling that Formora knew enough about dark magic given her background._

"_I need your assistance, Formora," the words sounded as if they were forced at sword point from his mouth, "Will you help me learn how to detect dark magic?"_

"_I believe you are one word short, Eragon," said Formora, baiting him with an almost mischievous smile. She sighed, reaching up to brush some of her hair behind her ear, "What will I do? I want to help you, truly…However, I remember someone telling me that I had to be polite when asking for favors beyond me."_

_His brow twitched. Formora was speaking of him, he knew. Pursing his lips, he stared at her with hard eyes then after a long moment, he caved saying in an almost thunderous voice the one word he disliked most, "…Please."_

_Laughing lightly, Formora placed a hand on her hip her expression of amusement slowly fading to be replaced with a more serious one, "I suppose since you had asked so nicely…However, there is a favor I want from you in return."_

"_A favor?"_

"_When the time comes, I shall tell you. Do we have an agreement?"_

_She held out her hand waiting expectantly for him to take hold of it. Eragon stared at her slim hand, fingers outstretched before grasping it with his much larger one and giving it a firm shake. Whatever favor Formora wanted, he would grant it to her in return for her knowledge._

Peering through another crow's eyes, Eragon calmed and focused his mind remembering Formora's guiding words. Formora as teacher was not in the same realm as Oromis, who was always patient and forgiving. Nor was she like Galbatorix, ruthless and urgent. Formora had her own way of teaching which could be at times rough and abrasive but also understanding and not patronizing. He could hear her words echo in the back of his mind as he searched for the spellcasters within the castle.

_Elves are more sensitive to magic than other races. Some say it is because we have a direct link to Alagaësia itself. Regardless, detecting magic that is not meant to be easily found can be tricky in its own way even to those attuned to its presence since birth. Magic, contrary to the beliefs of men and dwarves, is a part of nature—there is a naturalness to it that cannot be found elsewhere. Warping such a nature with magic will always leave its traces._

_To detect magic, you must detect the distortion in the natural flow of the earth and all things living._

His brows furrowed. He had experience with detecting magical traces, however at times it could be difficult especially during the one painful capture at the hands of the cult in Dras-Leona. Whispering in the depths of the crow's mind to shift its head so that he could have a better view point into the glass windows, Eragon peered inside. He could feel the presence of magic as displaced as his body was from the crow's position. It was a subtle energy that warped the flow of the surrounding if only slightly. He narrowed his eyes as the sight of a person cloaked in dark robes passed by, momentarily illuminated by the moonlight.

One spellcaster was patrolling the upper level of the southeast wing near Murtagh's room. It was surprising that he'd yet to see the slain guards outside of his young charge's chamber. He continued his search in the same manner, looking for the other spellcasters in much the same fashion he tallied a grand total of three, all of them separated into different wings of the fortress in order to stretch the patrol perimeter. The closest one to Eragon was the one in the southeast wing.

Checking to see that the hall he was in was indeed empty, Eragon made his way towards the spellcaster's location. He would have to go about this with caution. From all that he knew about Morzan, he knew that the Forsworn was as paranoid as he was powerful. If he killed one spellcaster, he had to make the assumption that the other two would be forewarned via their wards. And while Niernen was an asset to him in negating wards, the Dauthdaert could only protect its wielder and was useless against isolated wards separate from its user.

Climbing the stairs, his hand tightened on the spear. The emerald glow of the dragon slaying weapon made an eerie contrast against the darkness. He emerged onto the upper floor moments later. Staying close to the wall, Eragon continued towards the location of the mage feeling the presence of magic growing larger with each step he took until he was directly upon the spellcaster. From the person's height and lanky build, he surmised it was a man.

The spellcaster was completely oblivious to Eragon's presence behind him, calmly walking the length of the hallway without so much a glance behind him. His confidence that he was well protected within Morzan's estate was going to be his undoing. With swift footsteps, Eragon came upon the spellcaster his height overshadowing the smaller man, who upon realizing the shadow looming over him turned mid-step, mouth agape, spell on the tip of his tongue.

In a streak of emerald, Niernen pierce the spellcaster cleanly through his heart the spear breaking through the skin with ease. The rustic smell of blood filled his nose when Eragon pulled Niernen free of the spellcaster, blood rushing free from the gaping hole in the man's chest. He took a moment to study the expression of terror on the spellcaster's face. He truly wasn't expecting to be killed like so. Eragon did not know what was more foolish, the belief that the spellcaster would be safe serving such a powerful but highly hated individual or the fact that he believed himself capable of defending against Morzan's enemies.

Clattering footsteps in the courtyard outside drew his attention. Eragon peered outside the windows. Running about much like ants were the estate guards, brandishing their shields and weapons.

"There's an intruder on the grounds! One of the spellcasters have been killed!"

_Like I thought, _said Eragon mentally. Moving a safe distance away from the windows, he began to make his way to the next closest spellcaster. A ward had been triggered upon the death of one of their companions. Stealth at this point was no longer a viable option, but that didn't mean he was going to make it easy for them to spot him.

With a flick of his wrist, Eragon watched as dark red liquid splattered against the wall smearing the expensive paintings. Using the opposite stairs to head down a floor, he moved in the direction of the second spellcaster in the east wing. The once dark halls were ablaze with lit torches, their silence replaced with soldiers scrambling into place to defend themselves from the unknown threat. Which was why he wasn't surprised to find the second spellcaster surrounded by a company of soldiers when he happened upon them in his search.

This time it was a woman, around Selena's age. She was dressed in a similar manner to her now dead companion—a dark robe with the hood lowered. The soldiers that guarded her cowered in fear at the sight of his armor, their eyes taking in the dark metal with edges sharp enough to kill and the unnatural glowing spear in his right hand.

"Surrender at once!" Surprisingly, one of the soldiers did not stammer as he called out to Eragon, sword held tightly in both hands, the weapon shaking. "You are defying Lord Morzan and thus King Galbatorix with your actions here tonight!"

Eragon almost wanted to laugh at the soldier's pitifully weak attempt to intimidate him. Not responding, he spun Niernen in his hands, pointing the tip at the soldiers who all flinched. Behind them, the spellcaster began to chant beneath her breath, eyes trained on Eragon. It was quite unfortunate for her that she didn't know about Niernen and its abilities to null wards and most any magic. Which was why when dark violet flames burst to life about him Eragon remained impassive. The walls climbed higher and higher, circling about him like a snake, squeezing inwards to tighten its fiery grip. He felt the heat of the flames but not its pain on his skin.

Slashing through the prison of flames with Niernen, Eragon continued forward the cheers from the soldiers at his supposed demise instantly silenced. Niernen's immunity to magic served him well enough. A second layer of protection was Eragon's armor. Unlike the armor of his previous life, this one was much different. They had the same design and make, yet the one he wore now was forged by Rhunön. The master smith did not make any mentions of it in the short letter she'd written him, but the armor was imbued with magic—magic that acted much like wards deflecting inconsequential attacks.

"He's a monster!" one soldier yelled, complexion so pale he looked faint.

"Don't falter, men! There's only one enemy! Cut him down!"

Yelling in a show of courage, one soldier charged swinging his sword forward. Eragon parried with the end of Niernen batting the sword to the side. He spun the shaft of the spear in his hand, cleaning slicing the soldier in half. If he had any wards, they didn't protect him in the slightest. The others flinched, one falling on his behind as they watched the halves of their comrade fall onto the ground blood pooling onto the stone floor, seeping through the cracks.

The spellcaster glanced at him, then in a flurry of robes turned tail and fled. Eragon gave chase, batting the soldiers out of his way with Niernen, the spear cutting through metal and flesh with ease. With seconds, the company of soldiers guarding the woman laid dead on the ground at his feet as he gave pursuit. She wasn't able to get far as Eragon with his supernatural speed caught up. Each spell she threw at him, he batted to the side, Niernen nullifying them.

As they turned a corner, Eragon was close enough to reach out and grab the spellcaster with his free hand only stopping when he saw in the distance another spellcaster running towards them. He stopped. There was no need to chase her anymore as she'd brought him to the last spellcaster as well. Lifting Niernen upwards, Eragon watched, mentally calculating the steps the woman took. On her ninth step towards her companion, he drew back his shoulder, winding up the throw with as much strength as he could. He threw Niernen forward, the long spear sailing through the air faster than any arrow could. There was a sickening sound of flesh being torn and bones being crushed as the spear tore its way through the back of the woman spellcaster, cleanly breaking through her chest and embedding itself in the torso of her companion.

_Two birds with one stone, _thought Eragon in satisfaction as both mages fell to the wayside unmoving. Escape was futile. He walked over to their motionless bodies, reached down, and pulled Niernen out, causing more blood to spill forth, coating his boots. The emerald long spear was now coated in blood, the dark crimson liquid dripping from its tip onto the ground. That was easier than he'd expected. Then again, when he had a weapon such as Niernen, no foe was too great with the exception of Galbatorix and perhaps Morzan. The three spellcasters dealt with, he flicked his wrist once more to clean Niernen. The only matter left was to kill the remaining soldiers and set the entire fortress ablaze. Finding the rest of the soldiers was as simple as walking through the now brightly lit fortress. Rather than chase them, each and every single one of them came charging to their deaths at Eragon.

All it took to kill them was a simple swipe of Niernen, the long spear extending his range much more than either Brisingr or Vrangr could. A single sweep of Niernen could bring down a front of soldiers with little work. By the time he was done disposing of the soldiers, the appearance of the estate resembled that of a blood bath. The crows that had been waiting atop the window sills and tower ledges descended upon the corpses laying in the courtyard, ready to tear into the food that Eragon had promised them.

He walked through the hall, taking in the sight of blood staining the walls, floors, and expensive furnishings of Morzan's estate. He would have immediately set fire to the estate had it not been for the quiet sniffling he heard in one of the rooms. The sound was small and brief, immediately hushed by another more urgent voice. It was coming from what Eragon presumed to be a study. Walking up to the door where he could hear the quiet voices, he turned the knob to find it locked.

Inside, the sound of rapid breathing grew.

Deciding against using magic, Eragon pulled the doorknob from the door, a part of the wooden frame snapping under his strength. A scream greeted him as he pushed the door open to reveal a group of servants huddled inside the study, most of them sitting with their knees drawn up to their chest. For a brief moment, he remembered a memory long past in which he found Arya in the same position, insecure and hesitant—afraid.

They were all women, the oldest looking no older than Selena. They cowered at the sight of him, shying away from his menacing aura. He must look quite the terror with his dark armor stained on all surfaces with blood and the glowing spear in his right hand. Killing them would leave no evidence as to who had torn apart Morzan's estate but he couldn't bring himself to kill them. Unlike the soldiers who'd charged him on sight, they made no effort to fight. Killing them needlessly would make him no different than Galbatorix. And though they were Morzan's servants, he doubt they knew anything about the situation Selena was in or her connection with Eragon to rely anything of use to Morzan.

"Leave now," Eragon said, voice muffled through his helm.

Initially, none of them moved too encompassed by their own terror to realize that he was giving them a path to live.

He tried once more, his voice harsher and louder.

"If you value your lives, then leave this place at once."

The servants stared at each other, then one woman, the oldest of the group stood. She stared at Eragon almost defiantly. With calming words to the youngest of the group, a girl no older than ten-and-sixteen, she guided them out. He made certain to give them a clear berth of space to pass. The moment the last of the servants was out of the study, Eragon turned to watch them hurry through the corridor, muffling their sobs with their hands as they took in the carnage around them eyes wide in terror, no doubt thinking the words _'that could have been me.'_

_There's no one else here apart from me, _confirmed Eragon searching through the estate once more with his mind to find any more presence of human life. With the last of the servants gone, he reached up to grab one of the nearby torches before tossing it to the side watching hungry red flames eat away at the curtains of the windows. With each torch he came upon, he would take it from its holder and toss it onto the ground allowing the flames to grow until the entire hallway was consumed by it. For good measure, he even tossed several torches into the beautiful flower garden in the courtyard, destroying the flowers Brom undoubtedly cared for during his time spent as a gardener for Morzan.

Tossing the last of the torches to the side, Eragon continued through the hall towards the side door that would lead him to the forest stopping as the vase from earlier came into sight. He shook his head. Then with a clean swipe, knocked the expensive pottery to the side the shattering of glass accompanying the crackles of flames.

It was best not to linger. He navigated his way out of the estate towards the forest where the stallion waited tied to a tree. Eragon reached around the tree trunk to grab his pack that held his travel supplies as well as both of his swords. Removing his armor, he released a deep breath the sweat covering his skin chilled by the cool night. He'd have to wash it another time. He wrapped his armor carefully in the dark cloth he carried with him, slid it into the pack, and tied it to the saddle. Then he tucked Niernen away, the long spear too distinct to be inconspicuous. Untying the reins from the tree, Eragon climbed into the saddle taking a moment to look at Morzan's estate in the distance.

The fire had spread onto the upper floors, consuming the entire grounds in a blaze of furious crimson. A large and tremendous explosion shook the fortress, spitting fire from the shattering windows as a part of the stone walls caved in, the explosion destroying its foundation. He could only assume that the fire had reached the cellar. _How fitting, _thought Eragon surveying the destruction caused by his hands. Almost smirking in triumph, he gently tugged on the reins urging his steed forward towards the direction of Carvahall. His only regret was that he wouldn't be there to witness Morzan's fury.

Shrouded by the darkness of night, Eragon glanced back at the blazing fire behind him. He could hear the sound of stone crumbling, signaling the collapse of the walls of the fortress._ Formora would be proud, _thought Eragon imagining how the former Forsworn would react if she heard news of ill fortune befalling Morzan particularly by Eragon's hands. Giving the reins another tug, he urged his steed forward, searching for his mother through his surroundings.

It didn't take long to find her as he rode northward avoiding the public roads as he did so. She had gone three miles out just like he'd asked, setting camp far from the roads in the covers of an alcove near the mountains bordering Dras-Leona. The moment he came into sight, Selena who had been tending to the small fire bounded to her feet.

"Eragon!"

It was a hushed shout of relief at his appearance. Eragon gently slowed his steed to a stop and dismounted. His eyes darted to the camp behind Selena, taking note of Murtagh lying on a makeshift cot from the cloak that Eragon lent Selena, the little boy sleeping restlessly against the cold hard surface of the ground.

"Did you have any trouble traveling here?" asked Eragon leading his stallion over to where Selena's horse was tied to a tree. He looped the reins around the tree and tied it before retrieving his pack to join his mother and Murtagh at the small campfire.

"None at all," Selena answered, taking a seat on the ground as Eragon lowered himself down opposite her. "The roads have been silent. I did not come across any patrols since I've left Morzan's estate. It worries me how quiet the night has been."

It worried Eragon as well. Everything seemed to have gone almost too easily—too smoothly. Was this the result of a century's worth of planning and labor? Or perhaps a force entirely outside of his realm of comprehension? Having lived for so long, he was starting to become skeptical of his own success.

"How is your son?" asked Eragon eventually, pulling his armor out of his pack. With his hands, he dug a small hole in the ground, "_Reisa du adurna_."

Rising up from the depths of the ground, water filled the hole he made. Satisfied, Eragon laid his dark armor on the ground and began the tedious task of cleaning the blood from it. Rhunön would be dissatisfied if she heard he wasn't taking care of the armor she'd crafted for him. Across from him, Selena turned her gaze to Murtagh, expression soft. She reached out with a hand to gently stroke Murtagh's head.

"He's calmed down since leaving the estate grounds though I fear sleeping on such a hard surface will irritate his injuries even more," said Selena with a heavy heart, "I also need to find herbs to make a pain potion and ointment for him."

"We can do so when the sun rises," promised Eragon setting aside his now cleaned helm. He reached into his pack to pull out his rolled up cot. He tossed it to Selena, "Here, have him use this for the time being. It should be better padding than using a cloak."

"Thank you, Eragon," taking the cot in hand, Selena rolled it out onto the ground. Then gently, she lifted up her son to settle onto the cot, covering him once more with Eragon's cloak. As she did so, Eragon couldn't help but notice Murtagh's pale face and how he clung to the cloak in an effort to keep the chill at bay.

"You should share the cot with him," advised Eragon picking up one of his gauntlets. "Murtagh looks chilled. If it is not enough, there is a second traveling cloak in my pack for you to use."

"What will you do?" asked Selena. She worried her bottom lip, staring at her defenseless son as he slept, twisting and turning in discomfort. Then as if she couldn't help herself, she slid onto the cot with Murtagh, gathering his small body into her arms and throwing the cloak Angela gifted him with as well as his second traveling cloak over the both of them.

"I shall clean my armor whilst I keep watch," said Eragon, scrubbing the blood clean from his metal gauntlet. "You can sleep if you like. I will protect you and Murtagh."

Selena laughed lightly, the sound somewhat despondent. "Protect…" she sighed as her son instinctively snuggled against her, seeking his mother's warmth. "For the longest time, I thought I knew who I had to protect and what I had to protect. It is a wonder how life can so drastically change in such a short span of time."

Eragon peered at his mother. Her features looked remorseful as she stared up at the starry night sky, brown hair splayed about her much like a halo. "Back then, when I was a child in Carvahall, my older brother and I used to gaze at the stars nearly every night," she laughed softly, "They were the only sight worth gazing at."

"Do you miss it?" Eragon set aside his gauntlet to pick up his other to clean, listening intently to Selena's words.

"I…" she hesitated, "Truly, fate is a strange thing. All I could remember growing up was how dissatisfied I was. Each day, I woke to help tend the fields with my father and brother. Each day I learned how to cook and even had the pleasure of learning how to sew with my mother. Each day I would wish and wonder what more laid outside of the small confines of my village. When I left, I thought I was free—free from the small world that I always believed had confined my life…And in return, I ended up imprisoning my son to a crueler and smaller world than the one I hailed from."

Selena turned her head to gaze at him, the flames from the campfire reflected in her brown irises.

"I suppose this is my punishment for believing myself above my birthright—for desiring more than I should."

She fell silent, her words fading into the background the crackle of the campfire filling the void her voice left. Eragon felt torn. He truthfully did not know what to say to this younger version of his mother. The Selena he knew loved her family. She lacked ambition for wealth or power, choosing instead to live her life with the man she loved and her sons no matter where it took her be it the halls of Farthen Dûr or on a military campaign to face Galbatorix. How was he supposed to comfort her? The only ones he knew how to even remotely comfort was Arya, Saphira, and at times Formora all three of which were completely different from his mother.

"Regardless of what you did or how you came to be where you are presently, you still made the decision to betray Morzan. You still choose to risk everything to save your son from a cruel and loveless father…You still choose to love your enemy," said Eragon quietly, "I do not believe those are the actions of a selfish woman desiring more than she should."

"You and Brom are dangerous men," Selena said eventually, staring at him as she laid on her side from across the fire. Her expression was filled with slight mirth. "Speaking such warm, comforting words and going about charming your enemies. I am starting to understand why the renowned Forsworn, Formora, was swayed from Galbatorix's side now."

"It was due to her capricious behavior more so than me," said Eragon unamused, continuing to clean his armor. "What will you do now?"

"I need to tell Brom that I am unhurt and I have Murtagh with me," said Selena, carding her fingers through Murtagh's short hair as she gazed into the fire, "Afterwards, I would like to settle down with him, Murtagh, and I…It needn't be grand or the like so long as I can see the stars at night like this."

"Why not return to Carvahall? It is far removed enough from the Empire that Galbatorix pays it little attention," suggested Eragon.

Selena tensed, a conflicted expression on her face. "I doubt my presence is sorely missed. When I left Carvahall, I parted on horrible terms with my family. My father and mother passed away a few years past and I heard my older brother is married with his own child. I said terrible things to my brother when we parted, things I could never take back."

"You may never be able to take them back, but you could always apologize for them," said Eragon wringing the cloth in his hands to get the blood soaked in it out before dipping it back into the water he'd dug up. "After all, Carvahall is your home. When you cannot find a place to belong elsewhere, you can always return home to your family least that is what I have always believed."

There was a slight hitch in Selena's breathing as she laid on the cot, her eyes having a suspiciously bright shine to them. With a trembling smile, Selena nodded, "Then I suppose I would like to go home and introduce my brother to Murtagh and Brom…They are family, after all."

For the first time that night, Eragon smiled at seeing how relieved his mother looked. She was undoubtedly stressed with carrying her second child and worrying over Murtagh's safety. Despite sleeping on a small cot covered in traveling cloaks for warmth, he'd never seen his mother look happier than she did now, holding Murtagh close to her as the two of them laid together by the fire. Believing that the conversation had ended there with his mother's fears assuaged, Eragon was surprised to hear her soft words nearly an hour after their conversation had finished. He'd thought she'd fallen asleep some time ago.

"Eragon?" She called to him quietly, her head bent so that he couldn't see her expression due to the shadows casted on her by the fire.

"What is it?"

"Did you love your mother?"

What an odd question all of a sudden. Unperturbed by her curiosity, Eragon found himself saying in a quiet voice, "Yes, very much so."

The words left him without a hint of embarrassment. Across from him, Selena shifted on the cot, her face still covered by the shadows as she replied to him, "I see."

Despite not being able to see her, Eragon had a feeling that she was smiling. Regarding his mother once more, he turned back to cleaning his armor knowing better than to prod her for an explanation for such a random question. The solitude of the night was calming to his senses, allowing him to unwind from all the fighting he had to do hours earlier. Continuing with his cleaning, Eragon's eyes flickered across the campfire once more to where Murtagh and Selena slept. Even if they weren't truly his family, he couldn't help but feel a warmth in his heart from being near them once more.

_Family truly is a strange thing…_

**So, how was the chapter? In all honesty, since I haven't been writing this for a long period of time, I'd forgotten some details in my own story that I had to go back through to double check. Also in this chapter, Eragon once again easily overcomes his trials and that's because he has in his possession the Dauthdaert (which I've come to learn as I'm writing this story is the most overpowered weapon you can have in the Inheritance Series). I'm starting to believe that C.P. created the Dauthdaert as more of a cop-out when fighting Galbatorix because he couldn't think of any better way of overthrowing his OP character. In any case, I've finally finished the chapter detailing Murtagh's rescue. All that's left is confronting Morzan, helping Selena, and then convergence time (maybe). In any case, I don't really have anything else I wanted to address with this story. I hope you all enjoyed this very, very long awaited chapter. I hope to see you all next time!**

**P.S. Anyone out there buy the new Fire Emblem Fates game? I bought Conquest and Revelations but I didn't by Birthright (because ehhh). These two games are probably by biggest time eater since I'm always on them to try and hash out the supports.**


	52. Chapter 51

**Chapter 51**

**So here is Chapter 51 everyone! Now before you all start reading, I just wanted to address some concerns in the reviews. First of all thank you to those who asked about my back pains. I've been having lower back issues for the past year and have recently started getting treatment for it since it hurts to sit for any prolonged period of time. It's been getting better lately which is why I have more time to write as of now. Second in regards to update speed, I want to give a definite answer but I've suddenly seemed to hit a randomness factor in my life. I want to update as regularly as I can though. Thirdly, as for plans of writing another spin-off or when TMF will come to an end, I have not thought about such ideas yet. I had wanted to take a break and maybe go back to writing a semi-long sequel to RL but nothing's decided yet. Fourthly, what I wrote in regards to Selena's words last chapter ("Did you love your mother?") was intentional. Fifthly, I'm glad to see that there are those out there who agree with me that the Dauthdaert is too OP for Eragon. And lastly, since I haven't updated in a while in regards to pairing, TMF is strictly ExA, the evolution of Formora's love life is still in the works, and I would never write anything multi-pairing since I just don't see it as a possibility in the Inheritance universe especially in regards to Arya. There are some more things I'd like to address but I'll save it for the A/N at the end since this one has gotten rather lengthy! R&R everyone!**

Early morning came with the breaking of the sun over the horizon. The moment the dark sky was lightened by a sliver of orange tinged red, Eragon had no choice but to wake Selena and Murtagh from their slumber. Both mother and son were soundly sleeping, huddled together beneath Eragon's traveling cloaks. Feeling some regret, he reached up to grip Selena by her shoulder gently shaking her awake, mindful of the young boy in her arms. Jostling Murtagh too much would do him more harm than good.

"Selena it is time to wake," said Eragon watching as she murmured in her sleep. After a few more tries his mother finally opened her eyes. She stared up at him blearily a touch of confusion in her expression. He waited knowing that it would take her a few moments to recall last night's events. The moment she did her eyes widened in alarm. Before she could fully panic Eragon continued, "No need to worry. Nothing has happened as of yet. Though I cannot say it will remain that way if we linger in one area too long."

He stood peering into the distance where the main road laid in waiting. News about what'd happened in Morzan's estates would have spread by now. It would be a safe bet to stay away from the main roads where the soldiers patrolled. Beside him, Selena was now in a sitting position with Murtagh on her lap as she tried to gently coax the young child awake.

"It's time to wake up, Murtagh," Selena said softly as her son clung to the front of her tunic, burying his face into the fabric his whimper of disapproval muffled. Eragon watched the younger version of his brother in curiosity trying to connect the little helpless boy before him with the grown man he'd come to know. There was a shift in Murtagh's shirt as Selena caressed his hair revealing an angry red weal that snaked up to his neck.

Eragon's throat suddenly felt dry as he remembered the recent injury that Murtagh suffered at the hands of his drunken father. He would kill Morzan himself had he not promised to leave the remaining Forsworn to his father, Brom. Still seeing Murtagh so helpless made him think of his own past…_To think I hated you when I was younger, _thought Eragon as he watched Murtagh struggle to wake, _I sometimes wonder which one of us suffered more. You or I? _Shifting on his feet, Eragon returned to his spot where he'd sat keeping watch. He bent down to his pack to remove his wineskin.

"Here," said Eragon offering the wineskin to Selena as she shifted Murtagh on her lap, the little boy rubbing his eyes with his small hands. "For you and Murtagh."

"Thank you, Er—"

"Gabranth."

He didn't understand why but a part of him didn't want Murtagh to know his real name. It felt undeserving and unfair to the child that Selena was carrying within her. Selena raised a brow at his interruption but did not question his sudden desire to be called by his alias before her son. If Murtagh had heard her call his name last night Eragon doubted he was in a state of mind to recall it given his situation.

She accepted the wineskin gratefully. "Thank you, Gabranth," said Selena, uncorking it to hold to her son's lips, "Have a drink Murtagh, you must be thirsty by now."

But Murtagh didn't drink. Instead, he cowered against Selena turning away from Eragon and trying to make his already small body as tiny as possible. It was a sight that Eragon knew well. He'd seen grown men—warriors of greater stature and experience cower in fear. To see the same in a child brought about a completely different set of feelings. There was no satisfaction in watching Murtagh cower. There was no amusement from it. Instead all Eragon could think of was how lonely his older brother must have been. How lonely and terrifying it must've been for him to have been kept away from his mother.

_Just like how I was back then, _remembered Eragon as he recalled the months in isolation he'd spent under Galbatorix's tutelage. Yet, he'd Saphira to keep him tied down. Apart from Selena, Murtagh had no one. With a worried expression, Selena corked the wineskin setting it to the side before focusing her attention solely on Murtagh.

"What's wrong, Murtagh?" she asked quietly eyes flickering apologetically to Eragon. He shook his head in return. She needn't worry about his feelings. It was only natural that Murtagh was afraid of him. He did not see Eragon's face last night when he was rescued from Morzan's estate. For all Murtagh knew, Eragon could very well be his enemy. That fact that Murtagh was cautious enough to be distrusting was praiseworthy given his situation.

"Who is he?" Murtagh whispered unknowing that Eragon could hear him clearly with his acute hearing from where he stood.

"That man goes by the name of Gabranth. He rescued you last night," Selena explained gesturing to Eragon with a warm smile, urging her son to turn about. When Murtagh didn't immediately reply, she continued, "Do you remember the man in the frightening armor that took you from your room?"

The dark haired boy tentatively nodded, the movement so fractional Eragon would have missed it had he not been so focused on Murtagh.

"Gabranth was wearing it," Selena explained, "He helped me rescue you from the estate. He will be traveling with us to your uncle's village. You needn't be afraid of him."

Murtagh fidgeted, fingers twisting creases into the fabric of Selena's tunic then with great difficulty he turned his head and lifted his gaze to Eragon. Brown eyes met gray as they stared at each other. A split second later, Murtagh was borrowing into his mother's embrace once more. Eragon raised a brow as Selena's lips twitched. He had a feeling that she found his discomfort somewhat amusing as she tried to persuade Murtagh that Eragon was not going to hurt him.

"I apologize, Gabranth," Selena said once it became abundantly clear that Murtagh was not going to welcome Eragon warmly any time soon. "He has a hard time trusting others. He will warm up to you eventually once he spends enough time in your presence."

"Regardless of how he sees me, we need to pack up camp and start traveling towards Carvahall. The faster we distance ourselves from Urû'baen and Morzan's estate, the better," Eragon reached down to grab one of his traveling cloaks, throwing it around his shoulder and pinning it into place with a brooch at the base of his neck. The one Angela gifted him with he left with Selena. "At first, I thought to have us avoid the main roads. Avoiding main roads, however, would cause us to avoid villages as well. With Murtagh traveling with us that would be unwise especially with the threat of his wound harming him and our lack of poultice."

Placing Murtagh on the ground beside the cot, Selena stood and bent to neatly roll the cot up. "There is a village just north of here, if we travel along the main road we should reach it within the hour. It is far removed from Galbatorix's sphere of influence in the capital since there is little to be found there apart from rumors within its local tavern," she handed the rolled up cot to Eragon. He placed it in his pack taking note of Selena's words.

A village with a tavern was a decent enough size to have its own apothecary. There they could find herbs to make a poultice to treat Murtagh's back. Magic would be one way but it wasn't always the most efficient way nor did he think magic could fully heal the injury left behind by Zar'roc. It was his fault for not having asked Angela about any herbs that could have helped Murtagh thought Eragon as he destroyed the remnants of the campfire. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Murtagh gingerly stand gazing about their camping area in wonder.

_Has he been outside of Morzan's estate before? _The younger version of his older brother toddled about gingerly, keeping close to his mother's side as he explored his surroundings. Checking the rest of his pack to make certain that everything was in order, Eragon tied it to his steed as Selena used some water from his wineskin to wash Murtagh's face looking more affectionate and much like the mother she was as she doted on her son. For a moment as he stood watching them he couldn't help but feel a longing in his heart for his family—his original family. _Family is where you return to when you have nowhere to belong…_He'd told Selena much the same. Releasing a breath, he made his way over to both mother and son unblinking when Murtagh flinched the moment Eragon's shadow fell over him. Yet he bravely stood his ground holding Selena's hand as he half-hid behind her.

The sight made Eragon pause as he remembered a dark time in which he would hide behind Selena wishing for his mother's protection as Faust approached, a sinister smile on his face and false words of comfort falling from his lips.

"…story in case we come across any patrols," Selena was saying snapping Eragon from his thoughts. She stared at him, waiting expectantly, "What should we say?"

"About what?" Seeing as he had been distracted by memories of a past long forgotten, he'd missed what she'd said.

Unbothered by his lack of attention, Selena reiterated herself, "As Morzan's Black Hand, I had many missions in which adopting a cover story was the only way to go about my task without discovery. It is often said that the best place to hide is in plain sight. If we are to travel along the main roads, creating a cover story will be for the best especially since you seem certain that Galbatorix's men will be on heightened alert for whatever reason you have yet to divulge."

A cover story…? He glanced between Selena and Murtagh. It was clear that his mother was allowing him to pick whatever he felt most comfortable with. Eragon frowned as the very few options he had to choose from surfaced in his mind. It was obvious that a woman—a normal woman—would not travel in the presence of a man she did not have close relations with. Since Eragon had rounded his features with magic to make him appear more human he could say that he was Selena's brother. The two of them shared similar characteristics more so as mother and son than siblings. The only flaw in the siblings approach was Murtagh. It was strange for a woman, with a son and potentially married, to be traveling with her brother. That left only one viable route to them.

"I shall pose as your husband," said Eragon eventually an odd sense of reluctance pervading his mind. Selena on the other hand nodded understandingly completely at ease with the cover story. "We are moving to the country side where you own a farm, Selena which is not completely a lie. Suffice to say, I believe this will be ample enough explanation if we are asked to explain our reason for traveling if questioned. Do you have any objections?"

"None in the slightest," she smiled, "I had thought of such a cover story but thought it would make you feel uncomfortable."

If only she knew the truth behind her words. Eragon glanced at Murtagh. Being only a child, Eragon doubted that Murtagh would be able to follow along with what was happening. He doubted Murtagh could even comprehend the situation he was in. As if realizing Eragon's unspoken worry, Selena tugged on Murtagh's hand to gain his attention.

"We will be playing a game of pretend with Gabranth, Murtagh," said Selena pointing to Eragon. "Until we get to your uncle's farm, Gabranth will be pretending to be my husband and your father. Can you play along for me?"

Gray eyes darted to Eragon and away followed by a nod of Murtagh's head. Whether he understood what Selena was saying remained to be seen. Having lingered long enough, Eragon went to guide the steeds over handing Selena the reins to her horse. Tucking his wineskin away after it was returned by Selena, Eragon was careful to help his mother onto her horse knowing that she was pregnant with his alternative self, the Eragon belonging to this Alagaësia. When she was settled atop her horse, Eragon turned his attention to Murtagh.

"I am going to lift you onto the saddle with your mother, Murtagh," Eragon explained slowly reaching out with his hands towards the young boy. Careful not to startle him, Eragon gripped Murtagh gently under his arms, lifted him upwards, and placed him onto the saddle in front of Selena. Once he was certain that they were situated comfortably in the saddle with Angela's cloak draped about Selena's shoulders and in turn Murtagh, Eragon climbed onto his own steed. With a tug of his reins, he set off, leading the way towards the main road with Selena following behind.

As expected there were travelers on the main road, merchants and vagabonds alike. They all kept to themselves rarely interacting with others due in part to their innate distrust of strangers something that benefited Eragon greatly. The only thing that bothered him was the lack of patrols on the road. He'd yet to pass a company of soldiers. Either they were concentrated towards the south where Morzan's estate was or Galbatorix had them searching the immediate area of Urû'baen for his missing eggs. It was starting to bother him that everything seemed to be going too smoothly. Then there was also the matter with the Eldunarya. He had Umaroth's promise that they wouldn't interfere until he'd returned to the Varden yet he doubted they could wait for so long.

For the first time in decades, he felt uncertain of what was to happen. There were too many variables that were out of his control—the biggest one being Alagaësia. She was all knowing and powerful, the closest being to a god that he knew of. The only question that remained was whether or not she was benevolent. From his own interactions with her, she appeared kindhearted enough going so far as to acquiescing to his request for a second chance at life despite the price he had to pay for it. Only time would tell with her. Reins tightening in his hands, Eragon sighed. After living for a century, he never felt more pressed for time than he did now.

_If only I can speak with Saphira, _he thought. The temptation of contacting Saphira in her egg was great. Yet the guilt he would undoubtedly feel if he did so was greater. His grip on the reins tightened even more.

"You are making quite the terrifying expression."

Eragon blinked at Selena's words as she rode beside him, arms encircled about Murtagh. The two of them were riding at a steady pace mindful of Murtagh's wound. Any rough traveling would only cause to harm the young boy. Murtagh was staring straight ahead but from the way he was fidgeting Eragon had little doubt in his mind that Murtagh had not missed his apparent terrifying expression.

"My apologies," Eragon replied quietly. "I find myself contemplating memories best left forgotten."

"Would you like to speak about it?"

He raised a brow at her. Had he not just said that they were best left forgotten? At his look, Selena shrugged lightly, "Sometimes the best remedy to allay our demons is to speak of them. I would know better than anyone," she said, "Though if you do not want to, it is not my place to pry. I only wished to know more about you that is all."

"What is there to know about me?" It was a rhetorical question one that he didn't expect Selena to answer.

"Quite much from what I can tell," said Selena. She paused for a moment considering her words before speaking, "Brom speaks highly of you despite your differences regarding Formora. Whenever the topic of the Varden comes up, he holds you in the highest regards. From what he told me, the two of you did not part on the best of terms."

"We did not," confirmed Eragon remembering the heated argument they had regarding Formora's freedom and activities about the Varden and how Eragon was overstepping his bounds by protecting their sworn enemy. "Though the argument is years past. I doubt Brom is as childish as to let such a memory bother him after so long a time."

An expression that was a cross between remorse and apologetic passed over Selena's face as she contemplated his words. For a long time, the sound of hooves against the dirt filled the silence as Selena gathered herself. She looked shaken but for what reason, Eragon did not know. "Working alongside Formora gives rise to a bitterness in him that he has trouble letting go of. I believe deep in Brom's heart he yearns to forgive her but the hurt he has felt at her hands and the hands of her once comrades run too deep. If I may ask, what made you forgive her?"

Strange that Selena was asking such a personal question from him. Stranger yet that he did not feel bothered answering her in the slightest. "I told you before, some people do things for all the wrong reasons," said Eragon eyes trained ahead as he remembered their conversation years earlier when his mother had been sent to assassinate him, "Formora was no different…And decades earlier, the same could be said for me."

"Truly?" Selena questioned, surprised by his quiet admission.

"When I was younger, I was filled with rage and to a greater extent vengeance. My childhood was a very dark and cold time in my life," confessed Eragon remembering the cold cell that he stayed in whenever he was rebellious in regards to Faust and Galbatorix, "Much of my anger was directed at my father. One misunderstanding led to a decade's worth of frustration and hurt. When I met him once more, I would have most likely done something I would have regretted had it not been for the people important to me to guide me along the way. The only difference with Formora is that she has no one to guide her. As far as she was concerned, the entire world must have abandoned her. If I can be someone that can help Formora find herself once more, than I can withstand any criticism necessary to do so. And I can find it in myself to forgive her just as I was forgiven."

Selena made a soft sound in the back of her throat as she gazed up at the sky, "Were it all leaders were like you perhaps the world would not be so frightening a place to live in."

"I question the world that you envision," said Eragon dryly. He would most likely throttle someone if they were in any form like him. "Why ask about Formora?"

There was no immediate response to his question as Selena remained quiet atop her saddle aware of her son peering curiously around them with his wide eyes. Eragon could only imagine one reason as to why Selena would speak about Formora. "Are you afraid you are undeserving of Brom's love?"

She flinched. _So even you have such worries, _thought Eragon feeling a sense of kinship with his mother. He had his own reservations about his relationship with Arya in this world. Though he doubt he would ever confide in another person about it. This was a surprising new side to his mother that he did not know about until now. He never assumed that Selena would have any insecurities in regards to her love for Brom and his for her. To love an enemy surely was a brave and reckless thing for her to do. Eragon's eyes darted to Murtagh. Brom, who was so filled with hatred for Morzan, in his original time had come to love Murtagh as his own son.

_To love your enemy…to love the son of your enemy…and to love the man who killed your father as if he were your own…_

It was strange the more he tried to give his family dynamics more thought. He almost wanted to laugh over how worried his mother was when he knew for a fact that everything about their family was going to be fine.

"Whatever guilt you feel for Formora, you need not project it onto yourself. The two of you are inherently different from each other," said Eragon perishing any budding thoughts that could be destructive to Selena's mental fortitude. He had to be careful since her emotions were heightened due in part to her being with child.

"How are we different?" Selena demanded, brown eyes narrowed. Eragon's eyes widened slightly surprised by her outburst. From the way the words tumbled from her lips, he had a feeling she'd asked this question more than once.

"You were blinded by love and she by her own whims."

"Is not love but a whim?"

He wondered that himself at times. "What do you think?" He replied, answering her question with his own.

"That I wish I knew the answer," Selena murmured as a caravan passed them barely glancing their way as their cart pulled ahead. In the length of them since they'd first met, Eragon was surprised by how much his mother had changed.

"You have changed since we first met," Eragon observed eyes narrowing as he peered at the outline of the village in the distance. It wasn't much farther.

"I wonder about that myself," Selena smiled, her attention turning to the excited child in her arms. Seemingly forgetting about his caution in Eragon's presence, Murtagh was twisting about in the front of the saddle looking every which way. Murtagh was most definitely a most important factor in Selena's change. He brought out a side of her that Morzan never could with his cruelty. Love by admiration was but merely a shallow love compared to maternal love. It was a strange feeling thought Eragon as he rode beside Selena and Murtagh to see his family and acknowledge that they weren't truly his but loving them all the same.

"Tell me about yourself, Gabranth," Selena said after a lull in their conversation, the village they were headed to not far off in the distance now. He could clearly see the distinct shapes and sizes of the wooden houses. "It is unfair how you seem to know so much about me and I so little of you."

The only person who truly knew of his past and history in this world was Angela. Not even Arya who was the closest person to him knew of his real identity. Lately it had been worrying him with the convergence drawing close. His deceptions ran too deep for there not to be any consequential backlash from it. Eragon wasn't even sure if there was a way to tell them the truth behind his history anymore.

"What do you want to know?" He could at least try to give her half-truths if anything.

"What of your family? You spoke briefly about your mother and father, did you have any siblings?"

"I used to have an older brother and a younger sister," Eragon answered when he didn't make to elaborate anymore, Selena raised a brow to which Eragon responded, "I only lived with them for a brief time. There is not much else I can tell you."

Brown eyes tinged with sorrow at the tidbit of information, Selena pursed her lips her curiosity gone. The rest of the journey to the village was done in silence. Eragon had diverted his attention to the travelers around them while Selena focused hers on Murtagh explaining things to the young boy in low tones whenever something caught his attention.

The village was a small village as Eragon suspected but not small enough to be inconsequential to their journey north. Upon entering the village, Eragon dismounted from his steed keeping the reins tight in his hands before accepting the reins of Selena's steed so that he could guide them through the shoddy wooden houses. It was also a precaution. Were any danger to befall them, Selena and Murtagh could escape by horse while he covered for them. He glanced about. The apothecary was on the outskirts of the village. It was a small wooden house with boarded windows, a tattered sign for travels to identify it by hanging from the roof with the use of metal clippings.

"Here," said Eragon once Selena had dismounted and settled Murtagh on the ground beside her. He pulled out a pouch of crowns handing it to her, "Go purchase the herbs and several flasks for Murtagh's poultice."

Nodding, she took the pouch turning her attention to Murtagh. Selena placed her hands on his shoulders, guiding him to Eragon's side, "I have to go purchase some important herbs from this shop, Murtagh. Wait out here with Grabanth for me, please?"

Framing her request as a question, Selena affectionately patted Murtagh on the top of his head as the young boy hesitantly nodded moving to stand at Eragon's side at the behest of his mother. With a brief smile at them Selena disappeared into the shop, the cloak Angela had given him billowing behind her. With her gone, an awkward silence descended upon Eragon and Murtagh, the former at a lost on how to treat the younger version of his older brother and the latter still weary of him. They stood there together, side by side, watching as the villagers went about their day setting up stalls and opening up shops. One stall in particular captured Murtagh's attention. It was a small food stall that sold both meats and produce for cooking as well as their own cooked food. Eragon studied Murtagh as the young boy stared at the stall, transparently hungry but not daring to ask.

Eragon's eyes darted to the horses. Finding a post to tie their reins about, he murmured to them in the ancient language to stay put until he came to fetch them. Then for good measure Eragon tied the reins in an intricate knot that most humans would be unable to untangle. Satisfied that their steeds were secured and within his line of vision, Eragon's gaze flickered back to Murtagh.

"Are you hungry?" he asked Murtagh breaking the silence between them. Murtagh glanced up at him, gray eyes wide before nodding marginally.

Eragon figured as much. Having missed breakfast, Murtagh was no doubt feeling the pangs of hunger. Slowly, Eragon held his hand out for Murtagh to take wanting for the most part to keep his brother close by. A tiny hand slipped into Eragon's as Murtagh accepted his offer. For some reason Eragon's lips twitched almost as if he were going to smile. Strange indeed how children could so easily move others. There was an innocence to them that was near impossible to find elsewhere.

"Good morning," Eragon greeted the middle aged man running the stall. He was a tall, gruff looking man with a sturdy build. The muscles in his arms told Eragon that he was a farmer who tended to the fields daily mostly likely pulling along a plough.

A gruff response greeted him in return. "'Morning to you," the owner eyed Eragon and Murtagh, "You and your boy travelers?"

"Yes," said Eragon perusing the food available. "My wife and I decided to move to the country where she owns a plot of land for us to farm."

There didn't seem to be much that Murtagh could eat given that a child's teeth weren't as strong as an adult's. He compared the fruits looking for ones that Murtagh could easily bite into. Settling for peaches, Eragon purchased three of them as well as some freshly cooked meat skewered on a slim wooden stick. Handing over the single crown to pay for the purchase, Eragon led Murtagh to where the horses were tied handing him the meat for him to eat.

"Careful of the skewer," Eragon advised point to the wooden stick as he handed the food to the eager child. As Murtagh ate the meat, Eragon tucked two of the three peaches away into his pack, folding them in a thin cloth as he did so. The third one he ate for himself. While Murtagh was busy eating, Eragon's eyes darted to and fro checking every crevice and corner for any signs of danger whether they be Galbatorix's soldiers, the Ra'zac, Durza, or perhaps even Morzan.

His thoughts wandered to the Galbatorix. Had he found out yet? Galbatorix spoke to the eggs daily, his grandiose dream of the Order being reborn with him as the new leader motivating him to spend hours on end communicating with the unborn dragons in their eggs. Perhaps it was too early? The sun had not reached its peak in the sky yet. For all he knew Galbatorix could still be slumbering without any knowledge of the theft of his most precious assets. The idea almost made Eragon smirk. It was satisfying to know that he was able to outmaneuver Galbatorix.

Taking another bite of his peach, he glanced up at the space above his head. The eggs were hidden there using the same spell as the one Umaroth taught him in his original life. He wanted to see how they were but traveling together with Selena would not allow that. He'd have to wait a little longer. Up ahead near the outskirts of the village, a commotion caught Eragon's eye. He stiffened at the sight of armor and the crest of the Empire stitched into red cloth.

Galbatorix's men.

Beside him, Murtagh having finished his meat and was currently poking at the ground with the skewer immediately trembled dropping the wooden stick as the soldiers neared their location causing quite the stir with their boisterous arrival. Murtagh instinctively dodged behind Eragon, hiding his smaller frame with Eragon's large one, shaky hands gripping at the leg of Eragon's breeches.

Eragon for the most part continued to eat his peach as he studied the soldiers. His sensitive ears were able to hear what they were saying as they passed door to door harassing the villages to pay their taxes.

"As citizens of the Empire, it is your duty to the Crown to pay your taxes!" the lead soldier, the captain, declared as his company of ten nodded, their eyes set on their new prey. "Failure to do so will be considered an act of rebellion and can be punishable by death!"

_How sickening, _Eragon silently sneered as he watched them rough up the villagers. They were dressed as soldiers but they acted as bandits ready to pillage the village of their goods. Still, hearing that they were only here to collect taxes relieved Eragon slightly. Had Galbatorix been alerted of his stolen eggs, he would have had them chasing after the unknown thief. A scream tore through the air. Behind him Murtagh whimpered hugging himself to Eragon's right leg as he hide underneath his cloak.

"Let my daughter go! We already paid our taxes this month!" A man wearing worn clothing yelled as he tried to tug his daughter, a pretty young woman with blonde hair, out of the grasp of one of the soldiers.

"The fee was increased," the captain said overlooking the way his men were treating the villagers. "The king decrees ten more crowns in the name of the Empire! If you do not have the means to pay the tariff then we will have to take due compensation!"

The fact that the captain could say something so ludicrous with such a serious face was in of itself impressive. Ten crowns? He doubted a villager could even amass such an amount in a month's time. Finishing the rest of his peach, he studied the decent sized seed in his hand. A few meters away, the father was on his knees after receiving a heavy handed blow to the gut by the soldier's companion. His daughter continued to struggle, looking helplessly about to the other villagers. No one dared move to help her not even the strong statured man whom Eragon had bought from moments earlier.

There was a tug on his breeches as Eragon broke the seed in his hand into meticulous pieces. He glanced down to find Murtagh staring up at him, gray eyes overflowing with tears and lips trembling. His complexion was so pale that he looked ready to faint.

"Help her," he begged, brows furrowing when another shrill cry pierced the air followed by raucous laughter. "L-l-like you did for me…p-p-p-please."

A myriad of emotions came crashing down on Eragon as Murtagh's words pierce him straight to the heart. He was angry that a child as young as Murtagh understood the cruelty of the world they lived in. He was bewildered that he felt so strongly moved at the sight of Murtagh's distress. And most of all, he had the strongest urge to silence the screaming, crying, and laughing all at once. Calming himself least he do something he'd regret, Eragon picked up one of pieces of the peach seed in his right hand pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. He stared at the soldiers watching as they laughed, taunted, and jeered at the girl and her father while their captain merely stood to the side allowing such improper conduct.

"Don't worry, we'll find your daughter proper work in the capital, a pretty face like hers has plenty of—!"

Eragon flicked his right wrist forward as the soldier taunted the girl's father. The seed piece in his hand disappeared. He watched in satisfaction as the soldier blinked in surprise, the words dying abruptly in his mouth as his face steadily began to turn red with effort. Releasing the blonde haired woman who instantly took to her father's side, the man clutched at his throat coughing and spluttering.

"What's the matter?" One of their companion's cried moving to help the choking soldier.

Eragon smirked as he gazed at the rest of the seed pieces in his hand. He had three left. Picking up another one, his eyes landed on the soldier at the rear of the company. The man was staring at his choking comrade with his mouth slightly agape. With another flick of his wrist, Eragon watched in satisfaction as the seed piece went flying into the soldier's mouth causing him to splutter as it was lodged in his throat. Soon a third soldier was choking, inciting much chaos within the ranks of the small company as they tried to ascertain what was exactly happening. The last seed piece Eragon had saved specifically for the captain.

"What are you fools doing?" The man was yelling, disgusted with the way the three choking soldiers were on their hands and knees trying to cough up the seed piece that was blocking their airway. "Get a hold of yourself and stand to your feet!"

When none of them made to do so, the captain glared at them face turning red out of anger and embarrassment. "I ordered you to your feet!" He yelled kicking the nearest soldier in the side which only served to do more harm than good as the man grabbed at his throat. Tossing the last seed piece into the air, Eragon flicked his wrist one last time watching with great pleasure as the captain stuttered to a halt, mouth opening and closing rapidly. It was with great pleasure that Eragon watched the four grown men cough and splutter hitting their chests with clenched fists as they tried to cough up the peach seed pieces. Unknowing of the cause of the sudden choking in their ranks, the soldiers were quick to turn tail and retreat dragging their mysteriously ailing comrades with them. The villagers could only stare at their retreating backs in a daze uncertain as to what had happened to have chased them off. The moment they were gone, he turned to Murtagh who was still hiding under his cloak.

"They left, Murtagh," said Eragon drawing his cloak back to show Murtagh that the soldiers had indeed departed. The young boy peered around his leg, his face red and tearstained. Verifying that the soldiers were gone, Murtagh drew away from Eragon murmuring soft words of gratitude. Seeing how pitiful Murtagh looked, Eragon knelt and with a part of his cloak began to wipe away Murtagh's tears.

"You should not cry over the sight of them," Eragon told him though not unkind, "Do not let them have the satisfaction of seeing your tears. People like them tend to enjoy other's suffering…And also, you need not hide behind me for as long as I am with you, I shall always protect you."

Patting Murtagh on the head, Eragon stood when he heard Selena calling for him. Hurrying out of the apothecary shop, his mother rushed over hands filled with a sack containing all sorts of herbs as well as empty glass flasks. "Murtagh, Gabranth!" she breathed in relief, "I heard the screams from inside the shop and was worried something had happened to the both of you. I would have left immediately but the owner was quite insistent in having me peruse her selection of rare herbs."

"It was nothing you needed to worry over," dismissed Eragon as he tied the sack to Selena's horse as she crouched to embrace Murtagh, lifting him up in her arms. "Some soldiers thought it amusing to cause a stir here while masking their intentions behind the front of collecting taxes. I took care of them. I doubt their captain would be eager to make a return any time soon if at all. Did you buy everything that was necessary for Murtagh's poultice?"

"Yes," she nodded adjusting her son on her hip, "I can start making it as soon as we leave. I'll need a little bit of water, however."

"There should be a stream nearby. Villages tend to be located near some source of water," Eragon replied untying the reins of their steeds from the post he'd tied them to earlier. He led Selena's horse over to her, placing the reins in her free hand. He reached for Murtagh, "Let me hold him for you."

To Selena's surprise, Murtagh willingly reached for Eragon allowing him to take him from his mother's embrace, his earlier distrust of Eragon completely gone. Selena stared between Eragon and Murtagh unmoving as she took in the sight of her son who had grown up isolated from those around him willingly trusting in a man whom he'd just recently met. Eyes shining with what Eragon suspected as tears, Selena pulled herself up onto her saddle. She cleared her throat slightly once she was situated. Her hands reached automatically for her son. Allowing her to lift Murtagh from his arms onto the saddle, Eragon was about to guide their steeds out of the village when a soft hand gripped his keeping him in place.

He waited, staring at Selena with a questioning look. The only thing she said was a heartfelt, "Thank you."

Unable to find an adequate reply to properly meet her words filled with sincerity, Eragon settled for a gentle squeeze of her hand. It was enough for Selena released him allowing him to focus on guiding them outside of the village and onto the main road. As he did so, he couldn't help but glance back at the villagers who were still crowded together in the small square at the center of the wooden houses. He could only wonder what would become of them if the soldiers returned and he wasn't there. When they were out on the main road, Eragon mounted his steed and they were off venturing northwards once more stopping only briefly for Selena to make the poultice for Murtagh's and applying it to his injury. Once Murtagh's back injury was treated, the three of them took to the roads once more trying to cover as much ground as they could before night fell.

"Eragon."

He blinked turning to Selena. He would have reprimanded her for using his real name but when he caught sight of Murtagh sleeping in his mother's arms as he sat astride the saddle, he lost all reason to. "What is it?" Eragon asked.

"Nothing," she stared ahead, a soft smile on her face as they rode side by side. He watched her taking in the sight of his mother staring at the horizon in the distance, the locks of brown hair that'd escaped her ponytail billowing in the slight breeze behind her. "I just wanted to call your name…that was all."

His throat tightened as he gripped the reins in his hands even harder. Selena would never know how much of a profound affect her words had on him. For it was his mother that had always been there to remind him of who he truly was not who he thought himself to be. Even in a different world, his mother was still the same—always there to call his real name. The corner of his lips pulled upwards slightly as they continued down the road alongside each other. Ahead of them the road stretched onwards as the sun steadily grew lower in the sky.

**So this chapter was basically filler in my opinion. I'm trying to keep events paced but hopefully they won't go too slowly. I, too, would like to see Eragon reunited with Arya despite the struggles he might have to face when that time comes. I think my main objective in this chapter was to focus on the dynamics of Eragon's family that really wasn't in the original books or in RL. I believe CP made Eragon's family dynamics too complex but left a lot of the details out which kind of makes the entire family drama 1D. I wasn't able to explore much family interaction in RL so I want to make up for it here in TMF. Hopefully, you guys enjoyed it. In regards to the reviews, there was only one more thing I wanted to address. Someone asked about the status of this story, I'm not abandoning it and I, hopefully, won't be on hiatus. The moment I started writing this story, I already had the beginning and ending planned out. And I don't really do any brainstorming before hand, I usually write by sitting down at my computer and typing whatever comes to mind so there really isn't a pre-planning process involved in any of the chapters to be honest. So my not updating isn't because I've run out of ideas or anything, it's usually because of external factors such as life or something or another. In any case, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! See you all next time!**

**P.S. I pre-ordered the Collector's Edition of FFXV, any one excited for that? Though I'm kind of bummed out that Persona 5 has yet to have a released date announced now that Square Enix has revealed FFXV's release date.**

**P.P.S. Out of curiosity, I'd ended up writing a one-shot of Eragon and Formora just to see how their relationship would be portrayed were they mates...I have to say that Formora can definitely give Arya a run for her money. Though I felt guilty to my inner ExA romantic the moment I was done.**


	53. Chapter 52

**Chapter 52**

**And so I am back again! For all of you faithful readers, I've been getting better. The treatments and exercise I've been doing has alleviated the lower back pains that I have been having, thank goodness for that. It's been really stressful trying to adjust my lifestyle so that I didn't put any more stress onto my back which makes it difficult to find time to write new chapters for TMF. On a side note, the one-shot of ExF is up, called **_**Victorious. **_**If you haven't read it yet and are a fan of this ship, I would like to know what you thought of it. Otherwise in regards to TMF, progress has been slow but there shall be progress nonetheless. I'm just trying to get myself back into my writing mode so I can hash out chapters faster. In any case, I believe this is a slight filler chapter. This will be the last one leading up to Eragon, Morzan, and Brom confrontation and Eragon's return to the Varden, so look forward to that everyone! Formora will also get her chance soon enough as well for all the Formora fans out there. And **Faolin...well**, I'll work him in somewhere. In any case, R&R!**

_Backwater._

That was the first thought to come to Eragon's mind once Carvahall came into view. After days of traveling, the three of them had finally reached the isolated mountain village far from the reaches of Galbatorix's influence. Having finally laid eyes on Murtagh's and Roran's home village, Eragon understood why there was such a disinterest in it in the first place. It was a small village made with wooden houses, most of them built from stout logs bearing low roofs and wide porches on their fronts for talking and conducting business, cramped together about a central point, which he assumed to be the village square. The majority of the houses had a rundown appearance save for two. Those two houses belonged to the village blacksmith and butcher. Excluding them and the dirty tavern, the village was mostly comprised of farmers, at least to his direct eye. In the far distance, he could see the dark outcroppings of a forest, the Spine as they called it.

_It's no wonder why my mother decided to leave, _thought Eragon as he was now able to fully appreciate and understand Selena's desire for adventure. Just the mere thought in living in such a small and isolated place unnerved him. He'd become too used to being in the center of the Varden's affairs to want to live like a recluse. Had he lived his original life, he would have thought otherwise. It was once his dream to live a peaceful life with Arya, Saphira, and his family. After nearly a century of fighting, he didn't know how to go about accomplishing such a dream or whether or not it was even plausible anymore given the circumstance.

"Slow," said Eragon gently, digging the heels of his boots into his steed's side. The stallion slowed from a gallop to a canter, Selena moving to do the same beside him, Murtagh tucked safely within her arms, still asleep since it was early morn. Village life was already underway in Carvahall, the majority of the villagers awake and going about their daily routines. They swept their porch, made small talk with their neighbors, collected their laundry, and opened their shops. What unnerved him was how they would slowly turn to stare at the new arrivals, distrust evident in their eyes. For a very brief moment, Eragon contemplated whether or not he should show any type of response to their transparent unwelcome.

"It's best we leave it be," murmured Selena, discreetly shaking her head. Her lips were pursed into a thin line. "The villagers here distrust all who enter their midst. It is their way of survival, so detached as they are from the rest of the Empire."

"A smart attitude to adapt," said Eragon, as his eyes read the messy notches of lines in the wooden sign by the tavern. The rough wood markings formed the words _Seven Sheaves. _Amusement coursed through him. _It certainly has character, _he thought as their horses continued forward. Having led the journey to Carvahall up to this point, he deferred to Selena, unknowing of where her childhood home was. "Where is it that you live?"

"A little further north towards the edge of Carvahall," she replied, tugging her cloak closer around Murtagh. The cloak that Angela gifted him was tucked away now that they were in a relatively safe area. His eyes made another round of the village, trying to scourge for the slightest evidence of Galbatorix's presence be it in his banner or his soldiers. He found none. It was to be expected. There was no need for a ruler of an empire to bother himself with a village holding at maximum of three hundred occupants. If he'd had such resources to hold a small village, the rest of the Empire wouldn't be in such tragic shape.

As their steeds continued forward, his keen ears were able to pick up the sound of children laughing. Eragon's eyes darted to the smith's shop, where he saw two children playing a very simple game together. A tall, older boy indulged his younger brother as he chased him about their front porch. Having grown up isolated from his peers and without his siblings, he felt out of place watching such interactions. Truly, he was displaced from normal societal behaviors.

"Albriech, careful!" A woman with honey blonde hair exited the house attached to the forge, gently scolding the older boy with matching hair. Her son, Eragon assumed, noticing their resemblance.

"Elain," Selena supplied, following Eragon's line of vision. "The wife of Carvahall's blacksmith, Horst. They have two sons, Albriech and Baldor. A sweet, kind family. The most welcoming out of the rest here in the village from what I can remember of them or rather Horst in the very least."

As they continued on the dirt path leading through the village, it struck Eragon that the very same people about him were the ones who'd crossed an entire empire, suffering little to no loss, and reaching the plains of Surda during a fierce battle between the combined forces of the Varden, dwarven army, and Surdan army against Galbatorix's. It had completely slipped his mind the moment he'd seen the rundown village, but he found the brief moments he'd spent with the villagers of Carvahall flooding the forefront of his thoughts. He remembered Elain and her childbirth, her daughter, Hope, being born with a cat's lip which was cured by Murtagh. He remembered Horst, the tall, muscular man with a mane of dark hair. There was Gertrude, the village healer. Birgit, the woman who married Katrina to Roran despite her vengeance towards him for her husband's death. He knew these people. He knew that in spite of his initial condescending attitude towards their meager life style that they had more in them than the most privileged of citizens. It almost made Eragon want to laugh aloud as he attempted to reconcile the quietness of the village and the future, ragtag band of wanderers Roran brought to the foot of the Varden.

_Living in such isolation has hardened them. Or it shall harden them, _he thought as they finally made it through the center of the village, continuing towards the outskirts. Selena turned in her saddle to watch Eragon almost as a means to distract herself.

"What do you think of my home village? Is it as charming as you thought it was?" The last question was said dryly. Selena almost looked pained speaking about it.

"If bleak and desolate is your definition of charming, then certainly," he said in the same tone, unable to even think of living a life in such a place. It was little wonder how naïve and oblivious Murtagh came to be. It would not be an exaggeration to say that Carvahall had nothing compared to other villages and towns. "Would it be little comfort to you if I said I, now, understand your reasons for leaving? Even sympathize with them."

"A little."

They continued side by side, along the dirt path toward the edge of the village. Selena wishing to let her son sleep in more while Eragon had little else to say. Instead, he contented himself with looking at the scenery. Open fields behind the houses as far as the eyes could see, a forest in the backdrop and beyond that the tops of mountains and cliffs. It was beautiful, he would give it that. A far cry compared to the vast expanse of concrete Eragon grew up looking at. In his youth, there was a lack of a horizon. Here, it stretched on as far as the eye could see. The sights were priceless here, he would admit that in a heartbeat.

Eragon narrowed his eyes slightly as they approached a rundown house. Nearing it, he realized that it was worst off then all the other homes in the village. Shoddy at best, crude at worse. From the look on Selena's face, he could tell that the small structure was her home. _Murtagh's _home. There were no words said between the two of them, instead only silence permeated the space. Selena had a nostalgic expression on her face, taking in the home she'd left for her own ambitions. All Eragon could do was stare at the small structure, wondering how his younger self would take to growing up so isolated and away from the world.

They came to a stop before the front porch. Lowering himself from his saddle he tied the reins of his horse to one of the wooden posts. Eragon peered at Selena when she didn't move from her saddle, her eyes focused on the wooden house, a look borderline nervous on her face. Realizing that Eragon was looking at her with a touch concern, Selena cleared her throat, turning her attention to Murtagh. She gently shook him awake.

"Murtagh, wake up," she said gently earning a whimper from him. Wrapping him tighter in her arms, she pressed a kiss to the side of his head, her voice still soft. "You need to wake up, sweetheart. We've arrived at your uncle's home."

"Uncle?" Murtagh repeated, confused. He sat up in Selena's embrace, glancing around with drowsy eyes. With tiny hands, he repeatedly wiped at his eyes, squinting at the shabby house before them. "In there?"

"Yes," smoothing her son's hair down, she kissed him one more time before holding Murtagh out for Eragon to take hold of so that she could swiftly dismount from her steed. The young child went willingly into Eragon's arms; the days they'd spent traveling allowing him to warm up to Eragon.

Patting down her clothing, Selena pulled her cloak tighter around her small frame, deliberating. Knowing how nervous she was at the prospect of seeing her older brother, Eragon quietly waited. He, too, was very interested in seeing how his mother was going to react when faced-to-faced with her only family left especially after she'd left Morzan. For a long time, the two of them didn't say anything, merely standing there. The only noises punctuating the silence was Murtagh's occasional yawn or the cries of passing birds.

Then eventually, she stepped up to the front door, stiffly brought her arm up, and knocked politely. From behind the door, he could hear the sound of footsteps, then the door was thrown open to reveal a tall, haggard looking man, clothed in what at first looked like rags. Under closer inspection, the clothes he wore was dirtied from years of living and the lack of washing. For a moment, Eragon could not tear his eyes away from who he assumed to be Garrow, Roran's father and his and Murtagh's uncle. He looked too weak, too filthy, and too much of a hermit to be related to his mother. His eyes darted to the woman behind Garrow, peering curiously over her husband's shoulder, a young boy with chestnut hair clung to her skirts, peering around his mother. For a long moment, no one said anything as they stood there staring at each other.

Garrow's dark eyes darted between Selena to Eragon and Murtagh, lingering for a brief moment on the young dark haired boy. Then in a harsh, gruff voice, he stated, "Back, are you."

"I…" Selena seemed to struggle with words. Her dignity was making it difficult for her. She opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it once more. "I am sorry, Garrow…You…You were right."

The words came out bitterly. Garrow's expression tightened. Rather than hold it against Selena, he grunted, turned, and retreated back inside his house. The woman behind him, gestured for them to enter, a half-smile on her face. Following after Selena, Eragon tried to keep his expression neutral as he took in the small interior. Right off, the furnishings in the living room was lacking. A few mismatched seas here and there, an armchair that had seen better days, and a small center table. Selena took a seat in the armchair leaving Eragon to settle for a wooden chair, Murtagh sitting in his lap, his eyes staring at Garrow's wife and Roran in discomfort.

Garrow soon returned holding two mugs of water, placing them on the table. He lowered himself onto one of the seats, taking great care in doing so as if his bones couldn't handle the motion. Eragon took the water, discreetly inspecting it before holding the mug for Murtagh to drink from. Selena merely held the cup in between her hands.

"Your wife?" She gestured to the woman with long, dark hair.

"Marian," Garrow supplied as she, too, took a seat beside her husband. "Your husband?"

"Close friend," Selena corrected. "This is Gabranth. He helped me out several times before. Had it not been for him, I would not be able to return to Carvahall to see you like this. And this is my son, Murtagh. I believe the little boy with Marian is yours?"

"Roran."

It was near painful watching the two stubborn siblings skirt around the real reason why they were all gathered together in the living room. It was here that Eragon was the least knowledgeable. He had never met Roran's family, never interacted with them despite sharing their blood. All he could do was allow Selena to guide the conversation. They fell silent once more. It was clear both Selena and Garrow were struggling for the right words to say. If they even existed.

Garrow rubbed his face. "How was it? The life outside of Carvahall that you've always wanted?"

"Nothing like I envisioned," admitted Selena quietly. "Gilded."

"What do you plan on doing now? It's been years since I've seen you. I thought you dead."

Eragon's eyes darted to his mother, wanting to speak out against Garrow's harsh and blunt words. What bothered him even more was how his mother didn't attempt to defend herself. Instead, she took a slight sip from the mug in her hands, eyes darting between Garrow and Marian.

"I came close enough several times," she drank another sip of water. There was another grunt from Garrow.

"Why are you back here?" The question was finally asked. Garrow's eyes narrowed as he beheld his younger sister. There was no suspicion, no distrust. Perhaps the way his expression tightened was out of worry, thought Eragon, shifting Murtagh on his lap.

Selena rapidly blinked. Knowing she was with child—possibly carrying his alternative-self—Eragon wondered if her emotions were getting the better of her as she disguised a slight sniffle with a cough. Then, in a sincere and earnest voice, she asked Garrow, eyes directly holding his. "Is the night sky in Carvahall still the same?"

Garrow held Selena's gaze, he coughed in his fist, voice rough as he answered, "It never changed."

And just like that, the tension bearing down the living room was gone. There was no longer a stiffness to the atmosphere and from the way Selena and Garrow relaxed, Eragon could tell that whatever arguments they'd held in the past were long forgotten. Perhaps that was the miracle of family. His eyes darted downward to Murtagh, who was getting restless merely sitting about. Eragon gently placed the alternative version of his older brother on the ground, allowing the toddler to waddle about the living room staring at everything in sight

Garrow's eyes tracked Murtagh's movement, brows furrowed heavily. "Where is his father?"

"Selena's husband will be arriving here later," said Eragon, interjecting himself into the conversation. Selena stared at him in confusion. She'd never been officially married to Morzan, kept only as his lover and his secret away from the eyes of Galbatorix's court and inner circle. In Eragon's original timeline, he knew how much his father regretted not marrying and making an honest woman out of her. And if they were to live a brief, yet peaceful, life in Carvahall, being married would keep the village people from gossiping and casting their family in a bad light. "He was taken away on a business venture, thus as a close friend of his, I was asked to escort Selena and Murtagh to Carvahall. The roads of the Empire are not forgiving to young women these days."

"No, they are not," Garrow agreed, silence enveloping them once more.

He didn't have to read minds to know that the two siblings desired privacy and that Garrow still distrusted him. He placed the mug in his hands onto the table and stood. "I need to step out for a moment," his eyes darted to Selena, conveying to her with his mind, _You and Garrow should talk about…everything. I will be nearby if you need me._

"Please take Murtagh with you, Gabranth," Selena requested. "Murtagh, go with Gabranth, please. The two of you can become more acquainted with Carvahall."

Eragon held his hands out to Murtagh, who willingly went into his arms. With a brief nod to Garrow's family, he left the house, releasing a deep breath as he did so. For a long moment, Eragon contemplated what to do to give Selena enough time to speak with Garrow. He could do as she'd suggested and take a gander around Carvahall, but a part of him didn't wish to just yet. Instead, Eragon found himself taking the dirt path leading past the village boundaries towards the Spine and the mountains that laid beyond. Though its beauty didn't hold a candle to the beauty of Du Weldenvarden, Eragon admired the greenery just all the same and he could tell from Murtagh's wide-eyed look of awe that he did as well.

"Do you want to live here, Murtagh?" asked Eragon, barely having heard a word from the toddler since he woke. "With your mother?"

"Yes," he replied quietly. "Not with Father."

"Do no worry about him, you will never have to see him again," Eragon promised him as they passed by large opened fields, the expanse of land a liberating sight. Reclusive as it was, he could appreciate why Murtagh came to like the small village growing up. _My other self shall grow up here, _he thought coming to a stop on the dirt road, taking in the uneven growth of flowers, a field fit for farming, and the horizon in the distance. It was difficult to imagine standing there that he'd lived two lifetimes, fighting a war that never seemed to end. He didn't know peace. Not the one that Carvahall offered.

Murtagh's squirming caught his attention, lowering the toddler onto the ground, he watched with a slight smile as a happy giggle left Murtagh's lips as he began running about the fields, touching almost everything he could get his hands on. For a moment, Eragon could envision it—he, Murtagh, and Roran growing up together, playing in the fields until the sun set, and returning home to their families for dinner and rest. The child in Selena's womb, be it his younger self or not, would lead a completely different life compared to Eragon. They would grow up with the comfort of family, the presence of a father, and the freedom from Galbatorix's influence. It would be temporary but it would be enough.

The only concern was Saphira. Would she hatch for him? He was tempted to remove the spell casted around the eggs to see her egg. Caution prevented him from doing so. As isolated as Carvahall was, he couldn't risk anyone spotting the eggs and relaying word back to Galbatorix. After all, the Ra'zac had once tracked Thorn's egg to Garrow's farm. Who was to say they wouldn't do so again?

Taking a seat on the grassy field, he watched Murtagh frolic about, having to hold back a slight chuckle. It was amazing how resilient children were. One moment he was trapped living in Morzan's estate and the next he was free from it all. He pulled one knee up, draping an arm across it as he watched his older brother. Or rather the younger version of his older brother. _This must be all new to him, _thought Eragon feeling significantly lighthearted knowing Murtagh and Selena were safe from Morzan's reach.

After allowing Murtagh to tire himself out by running about for a near half hour, Eragon stood calling from him to hurry back. He happily complied, running to Eragon as fast as he could, presenting the tall man with a white flower he'd plucked from the field.

"For me?" He gestured to himself.

Murtagh nodded shyly, showing his very small teeth as he did so. _How odd, _thought Eragon almost amused. To think that in his previous lifetime, he spent a great portion of his childhood and young adolescence loathing Murtagh with a passion. It was hard to place. Seeing him so young and defenseless. _I wonder how it would feel to see my alternative self, _Eragon mused, turning the flower in his fingers, the stem snapped at the halfway point, _if I live long enough that is._

"Thank you, Murtagh," Eragon tucked the flower into his pocket, reaching down to lift Murtagh up in his arms. It was about time they returned to the village and become acquainted with its people. He took the dirt path back to Carvahall, taking notice of the villages now out and about, starting a new day of work. Try as they might, the moment Eragon stepped into their midst, more than one pair of eyes turned in his direction. Distrust was the main spectator with curiosity cropping in a side glance every so often.

Unsure of where he should go first, he decided to play it safe and headed towards the direction of Horst's forge where the muscular man was already stoking the bellows to prepare for another hard day. Seeing the sight of the burning coals reminded him of his time spent in Rhunön's forge. It'd been a long time since he'd visited her. He'd have to make a stop by before…Well, before anything had a chance of happening to him.

"Good morning to you," Horst greeted upon seeing Eragon's approach. "Our village is far removed from the roads for most travelers. What brings you here—?"

"Gabranth," Eragon introduced himself, holding out his hand for Horst to shake. A civil man from what Eragon could remember of him, Horst gripped his hand in a firm shake. "I was asked by Selena's husband to escort her back to Carvahall. They plan to raise their children here."

"Horst," the smith retracted his hand, voice understanding. "There's not much out there nowadays in the Empire. Plenty of the ambitious youth leave for the greater sights in the cities. It doesn't take long for them to turn back. The only work to be had is in the army. Raised in a village like ours, one learns the way of the sickle and perhaps a hammer. Not a sword. Still, it is good to see Selena returned home."

"Are you a close friend of hers?"

"Everyone here is close to their neighbors though not always in a positive light," Horst's eyes subtly darted to the butcher shop. Sloan, Katrina's father, owned it Eragon recalled. He'd never met Sloan but he heard the stories from Murtagh. None good. Nor did Katrina seem up to recounting tales of her father, whom Murtagh told Eragon had become almost obsessive over her life after the death of her mother. "As for Selena, I knew her father, Cadoc, growing up here. A fair and kind man and quite the hand at farming."

_Cadoc, meaning my grandfather. _Murtagh only mentioned Cadoc by name but apart from that there was little else his older brother knew about their grandfather. Eragon never felt the need to ask his mother about Cadoc and she never mentioned him. There was a possibility that because of her leaving Carvahall to follow Morzan that she had a falling out with Cadoc. The more he thought about it, the more interested he became. Exchanging a few more pleasantries with Horst, Eragon soon took his leave for Sloan's butcher shop, hoping to purchase several pounds of meat to feed Selena and Murtagh with. The pouch filled with crowns given to him on the day of his departure had yet to be spent.

The butcher's shop was a broad, thick-beamed building in which a chimney belched black smoke overhead. Pushing the front door open, he stepped inside the shop. The spacious room was warm and well-lit by a fire snapping in a stone fireplace. A bare counter stretched across the far side of the room. The floor was strewn with loose straw. Despite the nature of the shop, everything was meticulously clean. Behind the counter stood a small man. Sloan, Eragon assumed. He wore a cotton shirt and a long, bloodstained smock. An impressive array of knives swung from his belt.

"Who might you be?" Sloan asked rudely, suspicion unhidden on his sallow, pockmarked face.

Unmoved by his attitude, Eragon took a moment to evaluate the man before him. Katrina was a pretty woman. Copper hair, slender body, and fair skinned—the man before him held none of those characteristics. _I suppose this is where the resemblance to the mother holds truest, _he thought unable to find any resemblance between Sloan and Katrina.

"Gabranth, a friend of Selena, daughter to Cadoc."

Sloan's eyes narrowed. "Came running back like the rest of them, did she?"

"Not running. She just decided to return home."

The snort of disbelief made Eragon feel a sliver of anger. It was the tightening grip of Murtagh's arms around his neck that prevented him from biting back a retort. The small toddler was staring at Sloan's knives with a pale expression. Protectively placing his hand on his back, Eragon pushed on.

"I would like to purchase enough meat to last the week."

"And where is your money?"

Expertly holding Murtagh in the crook of one arm, he pulled his heavy crown purse out, shaking it for effect. A waterfall of clinks could be heard from the pouch, emphasizing the numerous amounts within. Sloan glared at him but dutifully slunk to the back room. Sounds of heavy handed chopping could be heard and after several minutes, the butcher returned with a sizable stack of wrapped meat, a thin line of twine bounding them together. Not a single word was said as meat and coins changed hands. The only sound was Murtagh crying uncomfortably at the sight of Sloan's knife covered in dark liquid. Sloan barely casted the child a second glance as he cleaned his knife in plain sight unmoved by Murtagh's distress. Eragon looked at the butcher in disdain.

Now came the hard part. Murtagh in one arm, Eragon gripped the twine to take the wrapped meat in hand, leaving the butcher shop. He'd barely made it a few steps towards Garrow's house before the front door was pushed open to reveal Selena.

"What is that?" Selena asked, accepting Murtagh from Eragon once she was within reach. Immediately seeing his mother, Murtagh went to her. Unoffended, Eragon handed him over. "Hmm? What is it, Murtagh? You look sad."

Murtagh dug his face into Selena's neck. "I'm scared."

"Scared? Of what?" Alarmed, she turned her questioning gaze to Eragon.

"A lack of thought on my part," he muttered, guilt at the edge of his mind. He pinched the bridge of his nose. In hindsight, he should have thought about the fresh trauma Murtagh must still be reliving. _Soldiers, knives, and blood…_everything pointed to Morzan. "I went to buy some meat. I had not realized it would affect him so. It was thoughtless of me…Forgive me."

Understanding dawned on Selena's face. She glanced between Murtagh and Eragon, then with her hand, lightly tapped Eragon on the shoulder. "Bad Gabranth," Selena scolded with exaggerated effect. Then in a consoling voice as she stroked the back of Murtagh's head. "There, I scolded him, Murtagh. Gabranth will not bring you there again. There's no need to be afraid."

A quiet nod was the only response to his mother's words. The matter resolved, the two of them fell into step, heading back towards Garrow's house. Eragon studied his mother, taking note of the slight redness to the tip of her nose and around her eyes.

"I take it you and Garrow resolved your differences," tactfully, he chose not to bring up the evidence of her tears.

"A pretty way of stating it," lightly laughing, Selena stopped just shy of Garrow's front door, turning her gaze to Eragon. "Living as I have these last few years has made me quite the cynic. I expected unfamiliarity, anger, and perhaps even resentment. Yet, seeing my older brother, married and with a son, his once youthful face aged with time…It felt like everything had changed and at the same time, nothing did."

"Family is strange in those ways. I have seen it many times over." _Myself with Murtagh and Brom. Arya with her mother. Murtagh and our mother. _The list went on. "You can spend nearly all your life despising them. Then the next moment, the hatred disappears."

"As much as I appreciated your reassurances about my reunion with my family, I expected the worst coming here. I thought I would see Garrow again, look at his face, and see only a stranger. That I wouldn't be able to love him like I had before I left with Morzan."

Selena blinked rapidly several times. She was as emotional as he remembered when it came to family. Had she and Garrow been on good terms in his first lifetime? He remembered hearing about his uncle's death at the hands of the Ra'zac, but nothing more. He'd also never learned of his mother's reaction to that particular piece of news too busy as he was fighting and training for war.

"But you still love him," concluded Eragon when words failed Selena. A nod was her only aswer. For her dignity, he steered the conversation down another less emotional and private path. "Have you two talked about your return to Carvahall?"

"Briefly. This house once belonged to my father before Garrow inherited it. My old bedroom is still here. Garrow's made it known in very few words that I can move myself back in. The only issue is that you would not have a room, if you are planning on staying that is."

He briefly did the calculations in his mind. When Galbatorix found out about the eggs—if he already hadn't—every stone in the Empire would be turned over. The prime suspects would be the Varden and the elves of Du Weldenvarden. Morzan would then be charged with search and retrieval. Hopefully, Brom and Hefring would realize upon their attempt to steal the eggs that someone had already beaten them to it and turn back. The ambiguity came in during Morzan's and Brom's confrontation. His father had to believe his mother dead to triumph over his sworn enemy. And Eragon had done everything in his power to paint Selena's supposed death back at the estate, razing the entire fortress to the ground. The events had changed, yet the results would be reflective of the original history. He hoped.

"I shall stay until I have built a decent house for you and Murtagh to live in. Then I will leave to search for Brom," he answered realizing he'd made her wait longer than necessary. "Two weeks, perhaps three at most."

"You need not have to," she shook her head. "You have done plenty for my son and I, Er—Gabranth," she said his alias in frustration, wanting to convey her gratitude by speaking his real name but being unable to. "If you must hurry and tend to your other duties, I shall not mind. Carvahall is a far cry from the capital."

"I shall stay," he iterated firmly.

She stared at him, searching his expression. Then she nodded in quiet acceptance.

Seeing her willing compliance, Eragon added, "There is one condition, however."

"What is it?"

"You are not to contact anyone by any means necessary. _No one._"

Selena frowned, shifting Murtagh in her arms. "I may not like the condition, but I understand you are only doing it for my wellbeing. I shall do as you ask. I doubt I can do much else as I am now. At least without only risking myself in the process."

Her hand rubbed at her stomach. Unsure of how to respond, Eragon lifted up the wrapped meat, signaling it was time for them to end their conversation and rejoin Garrow and his family for dinner. It was a tensed atmosphere, all of them barely fitting in the small dining room with the children eating on the laps of their respective mothers. Garrow for the most part kept to himself asking necessary questions here and there about Selena's wellbeing in between long bouts of silence. The family dynamics were certainly as awkward as his own experiences. Once dinner was done, Selena had shown Eragon her small bedroom where she and Murtagh would momentarily stay. Eragon for his part was welcomed to a makeshift cot of blankets in the corner of the living room. It wasn't much but it would have to do. The following morning, Eragon was quick to rise with the sun, an unusual action, to start the beginnings of construction on Selena's home.

Day by day, he spent his time in Carvahall building a wooden house beside Garrow's. As much as he wanted to use magic for it, he was forced to go about it the mundane way. The only saving grace was his strength and stamina. Cutting trees for logs, making the ropes, forging nails, and the overall construction of the house went smoothly. Though not vain, he couldn't help but want to make it the most luxurious house in Carvahall for his mother's comfort. Rooms were made two times larger, the walls sturdy and well-built to weather tough storms, and the overall appearance and design were far more than any of the other houses in the village. Selena often liked to tease him whenever she came by to take in his progress, calling him out on his _delicate_ _sensibilities_. But Eragon didn't mind. For his family, a decent wooden house was the least he could give them. Time passed as he worked, spending the majority of his days building with little interactions with the rest of the village save for Selena and her family.

It was on the beginning of the third week that he received outside news. His mother's house nearly completed with the only task left being the furnishings, Eragon lowered his hammer as a white swallow appeared from overhead. The bird circled around over top before descending in an elegant flurry of wings before him. It stuck out its leg, revealing a small, rolled up letter. Cautious, Eragon reached down to unwrap it. The moment the letter was free, the swallow took flight, heading in the southeast direction.

Curious, Eragon placed his hammer on the ground, standing to his feet. Walking towards the outskirts of Carvahall, he unrolled the tube of paper, eyes taking in the neat characters of the ancient language. There was a faint scent of crushed pine needles.

_Wherever you are, we must speak. Sundown, look for me on the water's surface._

Arya. She had sent him the letter. But why? Whatever it was, it must be important. She knew he was on a delicate mission for the sake of the Varden. She wouldn't jeopardize it if it wasn't of great import. Burning the letter after taking another look at it, he returned to work in an attempt to look normal. Selena, who'd taken up to telling Murtagh stories, some too grand to be real and others too mundane to be anything but, on the front porch of Garrow's house smiled at him as he picked up his hammer to continue his work. It was visible now, the slight bulge on her stomach. Each time he caught sight of her, a combination of apprehension, wonder, and fear ate at him. The convergence was coming closer and yet there was still much he had left to do. Pushing down his apprehension, he turned his attention back to the wooden house before him.

He worked late into the day, even past sunset as he usually did. When the majority of the villagers retired to their homes, Eragon kept working inside the living room of the wooden house. In the safety of the newly built house for Selena, Eragon lowered his hammer to pick up the bowl of water nearby. The living room was now sporting several comfortable armchairs and a cozy couch. Warding the house as a precaution, he turned his gaze to the surface of the clear water, reaching for the magic in the back of his mind.

"_Draumr kópa."_

There was a ripple on the surface of the water, his distorted reflection changing with each gentle wave before Arya's image replaced his. His heart jumped slightly at the sight of her emerald eyes. So focused as he was on trying to keep busy so that he didn't tempt himself trying to contact Saphira in her egg, he'd momentarily forgotten his new relationship with Arya until he was staring at her once more. She looked relieved to see him, though a touch confused by his human appearance.

"A temporary disguise," Eragon told her, amused about calling his once natural appearance a disguise. Living too long as an elf put him out of touch with his true human origins.

"I am glad to see you in good health, though the rounded features have taken me by surprise," Arya admitted, her eyes darted to his ears, almost distracted. "Is everything going well on your end?"

"Fortune has been on my side so far. And what of you, Arya? Has something happened?" He frowned thinking of the many possible reasons why she would want to speak with him. "Is everything…"

"Everything is fine on my end as well. Perhaps more so," she glanced off to the side, hesitant before her eyes returned to him. "Brom returned recently with a man by the name of Jeod and news that could possibly turn the tide in our favor, if handled with great care."

So it'd happened. The deliberations to steal the eggs. Worry entered his mind. It'd been neigh on four weeks since he'd stolen all three eggs and yet not an alarm was raised through the Empire. At least not from what Eragon could scrounge up in the middle of nowhere. _He must be handling it as quietly as he could to keep his enemies at bay. _If news of Galbatorix's priceless treasures snatched directly out from beneath him reached the common folk, it would cast the king in a pathetic light.

"Jeod?" he maintained curiously already knowing who the aforementioned man was.

"A scholar and self-proclaimed bibliophile as we were told upon his introduction. He claims to have found evidence of a secret passage existing directly beneath Urû'baen. For days, the leaders of the Varden have been in council deciding what to do with Jeod's circumstantial evidence," Arya explained, a troubled look on her face.

"You do not believe him?"

"It comes from a book of his. I would be more inclined to believe him had he not based most of his knowledge on books he comes across. They could be misleading. Just as his knowledge of elven culture tends to be misguided," Arya's lips thinned, then she sighed. "Still the mention of any passage at all should not be overlooked."

"What has Deynor decided?"

Arya's brows knitted together, a worried look on her face. "Deynor, under much say-so from Brom, has agreed to carry out an operation to turn the tide in the favor of the Varden. A thief, the best within his _profession, _will be scouted to search for the passage and steal the eggs. Attempt to in any case."

Meaning Brom was on his way to the Empire. Aware of the window of time presented to him to do away with Morzan, Eragon focused his gaze on Arya. Something was bothering her. From the stiffness in her voice to her tight expression, she looked distinctly annoyed.

"Do you not agree with the plan?"

"In a few aspects, particularly this thief Brom wishes to recruit. To trust a person who had lived their life without honor to the greatest of treasures to our people can be…difficult," she admitted without hesitation. Arya held his gaze, emerald eyes bright. "I asked that we postponed the meeting until your return, but with the details of your mission being sparse, there was not much I could do especially with Brom's insistence that we strike while we have the upper advantage."

"Their decision to deliberate without me is within reason. The Varden is more than one person, Arya," he replied, moved that she would do such for him.

"And I understand that. Rather…Brom may have founded the Varden, but you were the one to strengthen its foundations by organizing its armies, securing its funds, and training the members of the Du Gata Vrangr. Carrying out a decision of this scale without you," she struggled for the words. "It bothered me. Greatly."

"Then why not speak for me?" Eragon suggested. If there was one matter he regretted the most since living this life, it was how sheltered Arya had become beneath his and Evandar's protection. He wanted her to be more independent of her station and her relationships. "It will mean much to me to know that your voice will speak for mine while I am away."

"I shall try," she promised, then in a softer tone, one reserved for his ears only, "How have you been, Eragon? Living as long as we do, I know three weeks is inconsequential in our lifetime but, I could not help but worry."

"I have been well; my mission is proceeding more smoothly than I anticipated. A few hiccups here and there will not deter me. And you? Are Veric and Formora giving you trouble?"

"The former not so much as the latter. She has behaved and conducted herself well since your departure excepting a handful of arguments here and there. I also tend to be on the end of her antagonizing more often these days as well. Apart from that, Formora has been more or less how she usually is," she brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear.

"That is good to know," glad that Formora wasn't giving her a hard time, Eragon grasped at straws, knowing that the heart of the matter was dealt with but not wishing to see Arya off so soon. In the end, he settled for asking about the Varden in greater detail. She indulged him, telling him about his students in the Du Gata Vrangr, about the rising reputation of Ajihad, one of the Varden's soldiers, and other trivial matters. Eventually when there was nothing left for him to ask, the two of them were forced to recognize an end to their conversation as they both had tasks left for them to carry out.

"I shall not contact you again—" Arya was saying, her words signaling the end to their conversation.

"I missed you."

The words left him before he could stop them. Being around his family and still a stranger in their midst took a toll on him. Living as Gabranth was another draining matter. Being able to be himself, though not truly, before Arya was a breath of fresh air. It also brought back how much he missed her.

Arya smiled at him, red lips curving upwards, her gaze affectionate if not a little amused by his sudden outburst. "I missed you as well," she tilted her head to the side, regarding him warmly. "Finish what you have to do, Eragon. I will be waiting for you here."

He nodded, adamant. "I promise."

Regarding him with one last smile, Arya broke the spell. The image of his mate flickered on the water's surface before fading away. Staring at the water for a moment longer, Eragon stood, releasing the wards from the house. It had been an unexpected but pleasant surprise to hear and see from her. What she had to tell him was a different matter. Brom and Hefring would soon attempt to infiltrate Galbatorix's citadel from the secret passage Eragon already exploited. A passage Galbatorix was no doubt aware of now. There was also the matter of Brom. How would he react when he returned to Morzan's estate to see it in ruins?

Massaging his temples, Eragon glanced about the living room of Selena's home. He would think of it tomorrow. After all, his time spent with his mother was once more limited. Whatever was going to happen from now on, he had a feeling it was going to drastically alter the course of time. For now, he was content with the sense of peace Carvahall offered. He picked up his hammer, eyes darting to the kitchen window where he could see the night sky with its stars and moon.

Everything might change, it was a comfort to know that the sky won't change with it.

**This was one of my longer chapters so there's that, but you've all finished! I hope you'd enjoyed it. Right now, I'm at a point in time where I'm trying to draw all the lines together in TMF, where those lines lead is a secret (you'll find out soon enough. I hope.) After another chapter or so, there will be chapters devoted to politicking in regards to the eggs and Eragon will have a tough time trying to appease everyone. But ehh, that's politics. His relationship with Arya will also grow and Formora will have to eventually come to terms with ExA and so will Faolin. Then there's Glenwing will also make several appearances followed by Eragon's servants. In short, A LOT is going to happen in the following chapters. I hope you all look forward to it! See you all soon!**

**P.S. Is anyone bummed out that FFXV was pushed back to November? I was so excited, too! Though I suppose two more months is nothing compared to ten years of waiting. I'm actually very excited about the upcoming games for 16-17. I've pre-ordered a bunch of games already: Ultimate Collectors Edition of FFXV and Take Your Heart Edition for Persona 5. Then there's also Mass Effect Andromeda and a whole plethora of games upcoming. It's good year for video gaming.**

**P.P.S. I was thinking over all the female characters that I admire/respect and came to see that they have generally the same personality. A few to list, Arya (Inheritance Cycle), Miranda (Mass Effect), Morrigan (Dragon Age), Cornelia (Code Gess), Olivier (FMA), Yennefer (Witcher), Mitsuru (Persona 3), and Lightning (I'm her all time fan-girl from FFXIII). I guess I admire the strong-willed, independent type a lot. XD. It was funny when I realized that. I know some people dislike their characters because they come off too strong, but it's always so refreshing. In any ways, that was a fun thought about me.**

**P.P.S. I'm absolutely struggling to get the horizontal bar to appear between the chapter end and the A/N. Any suggestions? Also, Eragon has the eggs. The Varden just doesn't know he does.**


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